The Adventures of Holmes and Hooper
by Sci-fi Christian
Summary: He knew who she was when he first met her, even her disguise couldn't fool him. Now, someone from both of their pasts has returned and it could risk her job as well as her life. It's up to the great Sherlock Holmes to protect the one he calls, "Hooper" from an enemy deadlier than he has ever faced. Set in the Victorian Age. Year: 1888. Sherlolly with some John.
1. The Meeting

**This story has been on the back burner for me for a while now. It's based on my love for the Victorian age, especially Victorian Sherlock. I hope I capture this well. It's sort of new. (Writing in this age...)**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ THIS!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

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During a time when women were not supposed to hold any position that men deemed unfit, and politeness was a necessity. Men regarded women as something to show off, and yet treat with respect.

Though for Sherlock Holmes, women were not just something to show off. They were brilliant and able to work in fields that some other men deemed too dirty for them.

The first time he saw her, he knew who she was. It was a given to know the woman dressed in clothes that were not of her sex, and yet he carried on the charade that she was a he, in order to continue working with her.

The day he discovered her was the day he and Watson entered the morgue and found her over a body. At first, he wanted to say something, but when she began to show the knowledge of one who knew what she was doing, he clamped his mouth shut.

At least she wasn't as incompetent as Anderson. That he could plainly see.

He had returned one afternoon nearly a month later, to see her, and in one fleeting moment, he realized why he was drawn to her.

"Is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Holmes?" She asked, with her back to him.

"Yes, tell me why." He answered, approaching her from behind.

She turned to face him, and he saw the mustache quiver for a second. "Why what?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, before straightening.

He smiled and lifted his hand to touch her face. "Why the disguise when you are so much more?" He asked, huskily.

She swallowed and shifted her brown eyes away from his. "I don't know what you mean." She answered, moving away from him.

"Dr. M. Hooper," He began, turning to face her. "What does the M stand for?" He asked as she straightened the instruments on the table. "It's certainly not a man's name." He added, stepping behind her once again.

She stilled her movements and turned to face him. "How do you know?" She asked, her eyes closing for a brief moment.

He smiled and lifted his head in a cocky manner. "Come now, Dr. Hooper, I'm not as naïve and blind as the others, besides I admire those who step out of their comfort zone to try something new and fitting." He answered, catching her eyes once again.

She swallowed and lowered her eyes. "You won't tell anyone?" She asked, fear leaking into her words.

He shook his head. "Why would I ruin your job when you are the most capable mortician that I have ever had the pleasure of working?" He asked, in a pompous manner.

She smiled and lowered her head. "Molly," She answered, taking a chance, though she knew she was taking more than a chance.

He studied her and nodded. "It suits you." He returned, with a bow of his head. "Until tomorrow, Molly Hooper," He remarked, bowing his head once more, and left her in the room, speechless.

 **~XXX~**

It wasn't long after he learned her name that he realized who exactly she was.

The victim had been a low-level crime boss, and because of the bullet, Holmes knew exactly who the culprit was.

He and Hooper were the only ones in the room when he named the gun of the bullet, and with a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how still she had gotten.

"Molly," He called, turning to face her, knowing there were no others in the room. "You know who he is, don't you?" He asked, taking in her pale face, and wide, scared eyes.

She lowered her eyes and bowed her head. "No…not really…I…" She stuttered, but the look on his face confirmed it.

His eyes narrowed as the deductive mind began to work out the factors. The eyes, of course, the eyes were his.

She had the eyes of her father.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, watching her shift on her feet.

She turned her body away from him. "Because I know how you feel about him." She answered, in a low tone.

He stood up and moved to her. "Do you help him?" He asked as she stiffened.

She whirled around, and the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. "How dare you?" She demanded, raising her hand, but he caught it in mid-strike.

"I was merely asking, Molly." He returned, hotly. "After all these months, I wouldn't dream of believing you would, but since he's your father…" He trailed off when her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Father is a relative term." She remarked, noting he still had her hand in his. She opened her mouth to continue, but her frustration and hurt caused her to release a sigh and close her eyes.

"Hooper," He called, as her eyes opened to catch his. In the silence of the room, as they searched each other's eyes, an understanding passed between them. He wouldn't tell a soul who her father was unless he had to.

"Do you still want my help?" She asked, her voice coming out in small breaths.

He smiled, slowly, and gave a nod. "It's elementary, Dr. Hooper," Sherlock responded, watching her smile, albeit small.

"Well then, Mr. Holmes," She began, as their hands tightened around each other. "Where do we begin?"

He smiled, and brought her hand up to his lips, and gently kissed the back of it. "The game begins now, Molly Hooper."

With that, she smiled.

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 **Please be kind!**

 **I have the first three chapters written, but I'm waiting for a spell to see how this is received. Maybe update a few days from now.**

 **I'm not sure how long this story will be, but the chapters are going to gradually get longer as I wish to give you something to chew on and worth the wait.**

 **Next Chapter: The Crime**

 **Until Next Time...**


	2. The Crime

**Okay, since I received such wonderful support for this story, I decided to upload another chapter for you guys! ENJOY!**

 **A/N: If you guys have read my previous work, "You're the Only one that mattered," then this will seem familiar. I did take a one-shot I wrote for the other story and extended it because I enjoyed the story. I hope you all approve!**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

He watched as she moved over the corpse at the crime scene, and smiled to himself at how pristine she was, and yet she was the most professional person there, even in the disguise she wore.

"It appears the bullet went straight through, but I can't be certain." She remarked, moving her hands, gently over the man's body. She lifted her eyes to his and gave a wane smile.

He hummed, and bent down to her level, his eyes staying focused on hers. "It appears the bullet was fired from a distance of twenty or so feet." He concluded, judging from the location of the wound, and the position of the body.

She smiled and lowered her eyes. "If the bullet did not pass through, then I may have it out as soon as I get to the morgue." She remarked, with interest.

He nodded and smiled at her. "Well then, I shall see you at the morgue, Dr. Hooper." He replied, standing up, and walked away with his long jacket billowing in the small wind.

She smiled and bowed her head. "I look forward to it." She whispered, motioning to the others to gather up the body. "He's ready." She added as the body was lifted onto the gurney.

 **~XXX~**

Everyone had gone home, with the exception of Molly and the corpse. She sighed as she finally was able to let her hair down and work over the corpse without interruptions from Anderson or Lestrade or whoever.

The only one she wished to see was him, and he wouldn't come until a little later.

"Dr. Hooper,"

She stiffened for only a second, and smiled, as she bent over the corpse once again. "Mr. Holmes, I presume." She remarked as he walked around the table with a small groan.

"You've been reading Watson's stories again." He muttered, shaking his head.

She lifted her eyes and smiled. "Well, your adventures are quite…riveting." She remarked, with a sly smile.

He rolled his eyes and bent to focus on the corpse on the table. "Have you recovered the bullet?" He asked, uncaringly.

She sighed and shook her head. "I was just about to pull it out." She answered, reaching for the tweezers, and motioned for his assistance. "Would you be so kind?" She asked, motioning to the lamp on the table.

He smiled, and complied with her wish, lifting the lamp towards the wound, and focused on the body or more importantly her hands.

They were so small, and yet so capable to whatever she wished to do with them. He envisioned for a moment what they would feel like running through his hair, or better, clinging to his shoulders, letting her small nails bite into his skin as he brought her indescribable pleasure.

"There it is." She remarked, pulling a bullet out with little difficulty. She dropped it into dish bowl beside the body and smiled. "Do you mind holding the lamp there, while I make sure there are no more?" She asked, politely.

He shook his head and moved his eyes towards the bowl. "By all means," He murmured, watching her work with delicate hands and expert skill.

For the life of him, he never understood why women were not allowed to participate in these fields, only as assistants. He knew the dangers Molly was placing herself in as she dressed as a man every day in order to perform the profession that seemed to be her calling.

"I can hear your thoughts, Sherlock." She remarked, lifting her eyes carefully, but not lifting her head.

He smirked and raised one brow. "Oh, can you really, Molly Hooper?" He asked, teasingly.

She smiled, and focused on the body, or at least pretended to. It was hard to concentrate on her work with the man who occupied her thoughts at times. "I don't see any others. You may take away the lantern." She requested, straightening, only to capture the scorching eyes of the man across the table.

She knew what he was looking at, and for the life of her, she wondered why he had not said anything or for that matter, done anything.

Sherlock Holmes was not a man who teased, and by the look on his face, she knew he wasn't teasing. She smiled and felt a blush appear on her cheeks, before turning away from the body.

"Will you be examining the bullet at your flat or will here be sufficient?" She asked, clearing her throat.

Sherlock hummed and moved around the table to where she was standing. "I can use this if you don't mind." He answered, watching her shake her head. "Thank you, Dr. Hooper." He added, watching her nod as she lifted the microscope, and placed it in front of him.

"Let me know what you find." She requested, moving away from him towards the body.

He smiled, and nodded, and then focused his attention towards the bullet in the microscope. His smile faded as he began to notice the markings, and upon closer examination, he realized why they appeared to be familiar. "Lancaster," He muttered, knowing immediately where the bullet came from.

Molly turned around when she heard the mumbling, and the name of the gun caused her to pale. "Sherlock?" She asked, her voice quaking.

Sherlock stiffened at the sound of his name on her lips and lifted his head from the scope to find her beside him. "Molly…"

"You said Lancaster." She whispered, bowing her head to gaze at the microscope. "It's him, isn't it?" She asked, her voice shaking.

He sighed and opened his mouth to disprove the accusation, but he couldn't. Not to her. "The markings are similar." He answered, in a semi-unemotional tone.

She nodded and turned her gaze to the body on the table. "You're the only one who knows, right?" She asked, focusing on the body.

Sherlock nodded and watched her face turn from a daughter worried or scared for her father to a professional woman he knew and cared for. Besides, he knew what she was asking. She was hoping no one else knew that she was the daughter of a criminal, or son, in this age. "Molly, will you…?"

The shake of her head stopped his words from finishing. "I'll be fine. It's like any other job, right?" She answered, forcing a smile.

Sherlock hummed and watched her move away towards the body to finish her examination. He knew what this meant to her, and to him.

There was one thing left to do. Standing up, he moved in quick, long strides towards her, and stilled her shaking hand before she could reach for the scalpel. In a quick turn, he pulled her into his arms, and let her cry.

 **~XXX~**

"Mrs. Hudson, would be so kind as to bring up a pot of tea?" He asked as they entered the brownstone, and he nodded towards the kind woman who thought of him as a son.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and sent a sympathetic gaze towards Molly, who had changed into her high collar dress, and her hair was pulled up in a period style bun, but it wasn't the dress or the hair that caught Mrs. Hudson's eyes, it was the red eyes of Molly Hooper. "I'll be right up, dear." She responded, turning towards the kitchen.

Sherlock nodded a thank you and led Molly up the stairs towards his loft. "Here, let me." He volunteered, taking her top coat, and hanging it up along with his Belstaff.

She smiled and moved towards the window. Folding her arms over her chest, she stared out into the streets and sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes." She remarked, hearing him move behind her.

"Molly," He responded, causing her to turn around.

Molly lifted her brown eyes to his, and smiled, softly. "I was perfectly capable of heading back to my home, Sherlock. I did not need to come here. What would Mrs. Hudson say?" She asked, just as the woman entered.

"I would say that you are a client in need of some comfort." She responded, placing a tray on the table. "Besides, times are changing, Ms. Hooper." She added, straightening with a kind smile. "No one needs to know who Sherlock brings home." She concluded, with a tender gaze. "I'll just be downstairs if you need me." She finished, walking out the door, and closed it behind her.

Sherlock nodded, but his eyes were focused on Molly. "Are you alright?" He asked, gently.

She smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "I will be when this is over." She answered, strongly. "Did you ever figure out why my father killed that man?" She asked, moving away from him.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I have not." He answered, keeping his distance from her as she moved to sit down on the couch.

She nodded, lifting her head to look at him. "I want to help, Sherlock." She stated, watching him smile.

He moved towards her and sat down in the chair across from her. "I'll accept." He responded, lifting his hands to clasp them in front of his face, and bent his head.

She tilted her head and watched him enter the place only a few had the privilege to witness.

He had entered his mind palace.

 **~XXX~**

It was an hour before he came back to the real world, and lifted his eyes to find her in the kitchen. He slowly stood up and entered the kitchen with quick strides.

She turned around and smiled. "I wanted to fix something to eat." She responded, motioning to the fresh pot of food on the stove.

He nodded, but his eyes conveyed a question she knew he had.

She tilted her head. "I don't know any of his associates or men who had dealings with him." She answered the unspoken question.

He hummed, as he usually did when he received an answer he didn't like.

"I'm sorry." She responded, but his head shook before she could respond any other way.

"Tomorrow, I'll go to Lestrade, and determine who he is." He remarked, with certainty.

She nodded and bowed her head.

Fingers encircled her chin and lifted her face to his. "I promise, Molly Hooper, they will not find out your connection to him." He vowed, watching her smile.

She lifted her hand to grasp his wrist. "I trust you, Sherlock Holmes." She whispered, holding his eyes.

He smiled, and bent his head, placing it on his forehead on hers. At that moment, it was enough.

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 **Please be kind!**

 **This story, I will say, is one of the few that takes me away from the stress of real life, which I believe everyone goes through. I hope you all will bear with me, as I will attempt to keep this story going. If I stop updating for a few weeks, know that it's not intentional. It's life.**

 **Next Chapter: The Threat**

 **Until Next Time...**


	3. The Threat

**I apologize for taking a while to get this up. I ended up re-working this chapter because I wanted it just right. (You guys know how that is. LOL)**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! If you can!**

* * *

It had been a few days since the murder and Molly was anxious to find more clues to lead to the culprit. She knew Sherlock was working on solving the crime, but in her heart, she suspected she would have to be the one to bring in her father.

Her father…

Molly sat down in the chair where she waited for Sherlock to return, and clasped her hands together. She hated waiting, but Sherlock had asked her to see if he had any leads. It was foolish to want to help a consulting detective, especially when she was already breaking the law by dressing as a man to perform autopsies, but then again, they had done it before, and never looked at her as a meek woman.

He always looked at her as a friend, a colleague.

The door to the flat flew open, and she turned her head to find a man standing there in the threshold. A man she had never seen before.

She slowly stood up and braced herself.

"I have a message for you, Ms. Hooper." The man stated with a cockney accent. "Tell that fellow of yours to stay out of your father's affairs, or there will be hell to pay." He added, leering at her as she straightened her back, and lifted her chin in defiance.

"What does my father care about my affairs?" She asked, her eyes sparking.

The man sneered and stepped closer. "Don't think he doesn't know about your…actions with the police." He muttered, the smell of ale radiating from his person. "He don't like it one bit, especially since it involves that Holmes fellow." He added, pointing at her.

She stood her ground, though she wished Sherlock was there, or Watson, somebody. A part of her knew the man would not harm her. Her father would make him suffer if he did. For that she was grateful.

"You tell her father that no threats will make me stop."

Molly's body relaxed a fraction as Sherlock's body stood in the threshold of the door.

The other man slowly turned and glared at Sherlock. "For that, he is prepared," He began, moving towards the other gentleman. "If you continue this…action…Lancaster will go another route."

"Oh really, what route is that? Sending a more competent employee?" Sherlock mocked, and Molly bit her tongue. It would do neither of them any good to criticize the man in front of them.

The man glanced back at Molly and sneered. "He said to tell you that if you don't, they'll know."

Molly's blood froze in her veins. "They'll know, what?"

He turned back to Sherlock. "That's all he said."

Sherlock moved forward. His eyes were cold and calculated. "Tell him, the message is received. Now, get out." He ordered, stiffly. His tone was one that caused the other man to stiffen and after a moment he clumsily moved to the door.

They could hear him nearly stumble on the stairs outside until the front door slammed.

In a moment that seemed to speed in time, he was in front of her with his hands on her upper arms. "Are you alright?" He asked, worriedly.

She slowly nodded, letting him know. "Yes,"

He breathed out, slowly, and stepped back.

"What did Lestrade say?" She asked, reverting to business.

"The gentlemen's name is Heathrow. He was a guard for the Louis family." He answered, watching her reaction.

"The Louis family…they are one of the most prominent families in London." She remarked, piecing together the information. "Just this summer, their youngest was presented in court."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, and it's been confirmed, Heathrow was in charge of her, specifically."

The information rolled inside her mind, as she turned to slowly sit down in the small couch. "So, the purpose of his death was to what?" She asked, lifting her eyes to his.

His expression said it all as he moved to his chair. "That's what I need to figure out." He paused, looking at her. "Perhaps, it would be best if you step back from the investigation."

"No!" She stood up, her eyes flashing. "I want to help. No matter what my father does to, if there is even a small chance to stop him, I want to be a part of it."

"He could damage your career, Molly. He could expose you."

She bowed her head. "If it means putting him away, I will risk it."

He hummed and folded his hands in front of his face.

She nodded and turned to move around the flat. "I've always thought he would not hurt me." She muttered, more to herself, not realizing he was watching her. "Even as a child, he always seemed to protect me and mum." She continued, touching the hearth with a stray finger. "When mum died, I blamed him."

"Now?"

She shifted to find him watching her with intent and compassion in his eyes. "Now, I know that he could not have prevented the illness that claimed her."

"You never said how old you were." He remarked, casually.

She sighed. "I was eighteen. I had just started my studies. Mum always supported me. She said he did as well, but I never heard from him."

He slowly stood and moved towards her. "When did he first make contact with you?" He asked, intrigued at her explanation.

She shrugged. "Right after mum died, I suppose." She answered, gazing at the skull on his shelf. "The days seemed to run together after that."

"Did you always know what he was?" He asked, carefully.

"Yes, I knew." She confessed, turning her head to look at him. "Mum told me. She never kept it from me even as a child." She paused, catching her breathe. "I'm not worried about what he'll do to me and my career, Sherlock, but what he'll do to you…"

"My dear, Doctor Hooper, how many times must I tell you that I can fend for myself?" He interrupted with a cocky smile.

She rolled her eyes, realizing what he was trying to do. "This is not Moriarty you are going up against, Sherlock. This is Lancaster." She remarked, firmly.

He bridged the gap between them and stared into her eyes. "I know who he is, Molly." He conveyed, his smile fading from his face. "But threats, you know very well, only strengthen my resolve and determination."

She sighed. "I know, but can't I be worried."

He smiled and lifted his hand to caress her face. "Always."

 **~XXX~**

Sherlock moved towards the alley in the fading light. His eyes moving back and forth, making sure no one followed or suspected anything. He heard a throat clear, and he turned to find a young man, about twenty or so waiting beside some cartons.

"You don't look well, Thomas."

The young man, Thomas, smiled and bowed his head. "It's been a rough week, Mr. Holmes." He countered, sniffing and wiping his nose with his sleeve.

Sherlock nodded. "Did you find what I needed?"

Thomas nodded. "I did." He answered, passing a piece of paper to Sherlock. "Word on the street is the gentleman who was killed, was into bad money with the big gun. They say the "big gun" wants leverage of some kind for a big deal."

"What kind of big deal?"

Thomas shrugged. "I don' know. That's all I could get. Not many people pay a mind to a street kid, but some do, and those…"

"Don't put yourself out there, Thomas." Sherlock ordered, his eyes flashing even in the fading light of day.

"I'm careful, Mr. Holmes. Honest, they don't know I help you. They don't know my name or my corner." Thomas defended, with a prideful look on his face.

Sherlock sighed, and lifted a bag of coins from his pocket. "Here, for you and your sister, is she still with the sisters at the abbey?" He asked, watching the young man's face fall a fraction.

"She is. They say she is improving, but it's still…" He trailed off, holding the bag of coins in his hands.

Sherlock nodded, and started to back out of the alley. "Remember, be careful, Thomas."

"I will, Mr. Holmes, I promise."

 **~XXX~**

"What did you find out?"

Sherlock let the coat fall from his shoulders and turned to face her. "Apparently, the "big gun" is making some kind of big deal." He answered, walking carefully in the cave morgue. He knew from her attire and the lateness of the day that they were alone.

"Is that why Heathrow was killed?" Molly asked, lifting her eyes from the table.

He shrugged. "That is what they say?"

She lowered her quill and straightened. "You don't believe them." She stated, as-matter-of-factly.

He smiled. It was amazing how well she knew him. "No, I don't."

She returned the smile and lowered her head.

"But I do believe Lancaster is after something. He wouldn't kill the bodyguard of a prominent daughter without an extremely good reason."

Molly nodded. She knew, better than most, her father's reasons were always valid and devious. Something was amiss. She just wished she knew what that was.

"Have you found anything?" He asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

She inhaled deeply and lifted the paper she was just transcribing. "There were powder burns on his fingers, from a pistol. Apparently, he fired his weapon."

"There was no weapon at the scene." Sherlock surmised, lifting his eyes from the paper to hers. "He had been moved."

"He died where we found him, Sherlock. The only other explanation is that someone removed the pistol." She revealed, watching his eyes become unfocused. "The only question is where it is?"

"No, my dear Molly, the question is, why was it removed?" He nodded and backed up to grab his coat from the pedestal. "Coming, Doctor Hooper?"

She smiled and stood up to blow out the candle to follow him out the door.

 **~XXX~**

They returned to the scene of the murder, hoping with a new perspective, they could locate the missing pistol.

Even though the street lamps only gave them a small view, they could see quite well for a moment. Molly had changed from her "work" clothes and was grateful for the relief. At times, she worried more for Sherlock's reputation than hers, and for him to be seen with a young man at this time of night in this part of London, it would be disastrous. Or so in her thoughts.

"Look behind the bins," Sherlock pointed, as he examined the area ahead of him.

Molly nodded and bent to look behind the bins. Some areas behind were dark and she could not see for lack of light. Her hands reached out and she felt something warm instead of a cold ground. She jerked back and in the faint light, she examined her hand. "Sherlock!"

He heard her scream his name and he ran towards her. He knelt beside her and grabbed her wrist, realizing that her hand was covered in blood. He lifted his eyes to the bins, and with remarkable strength, he pulled them back. "No…" He whispered, falling beside the dead body.

She moved her eyes to him and then to the body before focusing on him. "Who is he?"

Sherlock swallowed. "One of my people on the streets," He paused, his voice choking slightly. "Thomas."

She placed her clean hand on his arm, sliding it to grasp his hand. Her eyes lifted to the wall and she gasped.

He glanced at her before following her gaze.

On the wall, scrawled in blood, was a message.

 _First Warning…_

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I hope I stayed true. That's what takes a while, is because I want it to be still a mystery and have just a fraction of romance involved, but still, this is Sherlock... :)**

 **I hope you guys still enjoy!**

 **I will try to upload a chapter a week, maybe two, depending on my schedule!**

 **Next Chapter: Face to Face**

 **Until Next Time...**


	4. Face to Face

**I'm so sorry for the long wait. My life has been hectic and I've been on an emotional overhaul lately.**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

Autopsies are the worst, especially on those who left the earth so young. For Molly, this particular autopsy was heartbreaking enough because not only was the young man on the table so young, mid-twenties as Sherlock had informed her, but he was a friend of the detective.

Though friend would have been a relative term, she could not help but note that Sherlock was quieter than usual as she began to prep for the examination.

"Would you like a moment alone?" She asked, quietly, as not to garner attention from the others in the cavern.

Sherlock slowly lifted his eyes from the focus of the dead body and focused on her for a brief moment. "No,"

His stark reply would have made anyone else believe him to be unfeeling, but she knew him better than that. Slowly sending him a gentle smile, she nodded and motioned to Anderson, her assistant. "Bring me the tools." She ordered, in a husky tone.

Sherlock tuned her out as he steadied his gaze to the body of his informant, his friend, Thomas.

Thomas had a sister. She was the only family he had, which was why he took odd jobs to take care of her. She had been in and out of the dank hospitals since she was two, her ailment one of disbelief and curiosity. Sherlock had visited her once with Thomas in order to ensure she was properly taken care of, now he would have to visit her again. This time under different circumstances.

Thomas was a young soul. One of vitality and vigor, and yet he was always there for Sherlock with information. Information that always proved useful. Most of the time he had stayed away from danger, but this time…

Sherlock's blue-green eyes lifted to Molly. He observed her careful technique as she drew lines on the body with her scalpel, instructing Anderson how it should be all the while. He never understood why Molly had to have an assistant, especially one who was an inept student like Anderson.

He should have requested Molly do the examination alone. No one knew of her gender, so protocol would not have been breached. "Dr. Hooper, please inform me when you have completed the examination." He remarked, huskily.

She lifted her eyes and slowly nodded as he turned on his heel and marched out of the cavern. She felt her heart ache at the sight of his pain but masked her emotions as she turned back to the body.

She had an examination to finish.

 **~XXX~**

The living quarters were stiff and quiet as Sherlock paced back and forth, avoiding the chairs and table in the far edge. He wished to send word to John, but since the arrival of the new baby, John had been a tad preoccupied. Sherlock could hardly blame his friend, not that he could understand completely. Babies were trivial things who cried and sometimes their smell wrenched his stomach.

And yet…

Sherlock shook his head. There were more pressing matters to attend to, such as Thomas' death. What did he find out? How close did he actually get?

Those questions rolled through his mind, and he fought hard to find the solution. He needed a solution.

Timid footsteps caused him to stop and slowly turned to find her standing in the doorway. She had changed from her work clothes to the proper attire of the age, a high neck collar dress with cream lace, light blue stripes, and her hair in a low bun. She was beautiful in the dress.

"Dr. Hooper…" He whispered, bowing his head.

She smiled and returned the gesture, but her smile faded as she lifted the papers in her hand. "It's the same." She choked out, passing him the papers.

He frowned and his eyes quickly ran over the findings. "Shot with a Lancaster gun and yet that was not the cause of death…"

She shook her head as he slowly lifted his eyes to watch her. She stepped closer and pointed to the second page. "No, he was poisoned. He was shot after he was poisoned. Essentially, he bled to death." She explained, lowering her hand.

"You found the bullet only inches from the heart." He read out loud.

She nodded. "Yes," She concurred, lowly. "From where the bullet entered, it caused damage, but from the poison which was used, even the smallest wound…"

"Would have been fatal," Sherlock concluded lifting his eyes to stare straight ahead. "Oh, Thomas," He uttered, moving to the window.

"I know he was a friend."

"He was an informant, Molly. One of the best." Sherlock explained, absently.

"Still, he was…" She began, urging herself forward to step beside him.

"He was a young boy who went too far. All because I couldn't see the danger."

"Did you warn him?"

"Of course, I warned him. I told him not to put himself out there, but he said he would be careful."

Molly heard the emotion in his words, and throwing propriety out the window, she slowly wrapped her arms around his waist, placing her head on his back.

He stiffened if only for a moment before he placed his fingers over hers.

Silenced drifted between them as he continued to stare out the window, and for the moment, it was enough.

 **~XXX~**

Tea has an amazing ability. It can soothe the most troubled mind. Calm the senses. Add a teaspoon of honey and lemon and it would soothe the throat of any soreness and ailments. For Sherlock, tea was essential in his process.

He leaned back in the chair with his hands folded before his mouth and his eyes drifted to Molly. She stood in the kitchen, her back to him as she prepared the tea. He inhaled deeply and the scent of mint and tea leaves encompassed his senses.

Mint…ah, his favorite thinking herb.

She knew him too well.

She turned with a tray in her hand and slowly entered the living room and set the tray down on the small table in front of him. Without a word spoken, she passed a tea cup and saucer to him and bowed her head as he accepted it with a calm expression.

"There are not many drugs which can cause the blood to thin as it did in Thomas." Sherlock began, his voice calm and collected.

Molly shook her head. "No, in fact, they are virtually unheard of." She concurred, bowing her head to sip from her cup.

Sherlock hummed and placed the cup and saucer on his lap. "Opium and Laudanum cause hallucinations if used to excess." He uttered, drifting off in his thoughts.

She bit her tongue at his explanation. She knew of his past drug habits and though it hurt to hear about them, she knew he was past it.

His eyes lifted. "His blood was already naturally thin." He deduced, focusing on her.

"How do you know that?"

"Because his sister has a rare medical condition where she bleeds excessively." He explained, carefully. "I believe it to be hereditary. Thomas probably inherited it as well." He concluded, nodding his head.

"So, you're saying that he was not poisoned."

"Oh, he was poisoned," Sherlock interjected with a jerk of his head. "But whoever shot him knew of his medical condition."

"But why poison him?" Molly asked, placing her cup and saucer on the table. "If he was going to die anyway…"

"There is an opium house close to where we found Thomas." Sherlock mentally mapped. "He came out of that house and was shot."

"And with his drug addled mind, he moved just a fraction to where the bullet missed his heart." Molly deduced.

Sherlock grinned. "Exactly," He concurred with pride.

She blushed and bowed her head. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul even without her looking, and just the feel of his eyes on her made her body tingle with unwanted, improper feelings.

"But he was still poisoned…" Molly whispered, lifting her eyes to catch his.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, the opium dealer must have given him a tainted batch or too much, but not enough to kill him."

"Anyone with that much opium in their system…"

"It will act as a form of truth serum." Sherlock finished, nodding his head.

Molly bit her lip and slowly stood up. Her father knew. He had gotten to Sherlock's informant and killed him before Thomas could spill what he had learned.

She felt Sherlock stand behind her and slowly his hands came to rest on her upper arms. She leaned back into his body, uncaring that someone could walk in and see such a display.

Sherlock did not mind the gesture as his body surged with feeling with her body aligned with his. It was improper for a woman in good standing to stand this way with a man who was not her husband, but neither Sherlock nor Molly cared about society protocols. She was soft and genteel against him. A woman by any definition. She was caring and brilliant. An equal in his mind.

And yet her past was something that seemed to link them together more and more every day. Her father…Lancaster as he was called…had damaged Sherlock in the past, but this angel before him was mending the wounds.

"I'm going to see him, Molly."

Molly stiffened and her head shook, turning around to face him. "No, you know what he will do."

"Not if I call a parley." He returned, catching her eyes. "He will see me."

"After what he did to Thomas…to the others…" She argued, fear leaking into her eyes.

He smiled and lifted her right hand to his lips. "He won't harm me, Molly. I promise." He reassured her, stepping back to start towards his bedroom to change.

"Sherlock…" She called, as his door closed. Her mind raced over the last sentences he told her. Her father may not hurt him, but she wasn't going to take the chance.

 **~XXX~**

"You are not going alone," Molly stated after he reentered the room, buttoning his vest.

He smiled and nodded. "Yes, I am." He returned, grabbing his coat beside the door. "Stay here, Molly." He ordered, opening the door.

"No," She remarked, firmly, causing him to stop. "He is my father, and you are my…friend." She paused, stuttering slightly. "You are not going alone."

He studied her closely and sighed. "Alright, but you stay close to me. Your father may not hurt you, but his men…" He left the words off, letting her piece together what he meant.

She nodded. "You'll protect me if I need it, and I can protect myself if need be."

He bowed his head and motioned to the opened door. "Very well. After you, Molly Hooper."

 **~XXX~**

The building was brick lined and the smell drifting into her senses was a mixture of embalming fluid and decaying flesh.

Her job had made her immune to the smell, keeping her from the urge to regurgitate. Her arm wound its way through Sherlock's arm, and to any passing onlooker, they appeared to be a courting couple with no other intention but an evening stroll.

They entered the building and she tensed as she saw a burly man with a thick beard approach them. His dark eyes glint in the light of the lamps and his chin was as stern as granite.

"Business?" He demanded his cockney baritone voice.

Molly tensed, and Sherlock's hand touched hers with a gentle gesture. "I'm here to see my father." She answered, watching with mild satisfaction at the man's break in the business.

"Hooper…" He remarked, staggering only slightly back. "And you must be Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock nodded but did not say a word.

The other man bowed his head and stepped back to allow them to pass through a wooden door. The smell intensified as they continued on their trek.

One of the reasons, she discovered, for Sherlock allowing her to come was she knew where one of her father's businesses was. No one knew, of course, but her father was a mortician. A dignified mortician and this was the only place she knew he might be.

They entered the room and stopped to find a man bending over another body on the table. His precision with the scalpel made Molly come to terms that she had inherited the skill from him. Was she like him in other ways?

Her body tensed, but Sherlock's reassuring hand kept her from screaming.

The man straightened and his eyes were Molly's, as was his nose. His hair was silver, not brown, and his stature was broad shouldered and tall.

"Ah, Molly, so nice of you to visit your father." He remarked, his posh accent giving him away. He moved around the table and leaned over to kiss her cheek in a fatherly way. "I apologize for my appearance, but you know how it is when you cut up a body." He added, his eyes shifting to a cold gaze.

Molly swallowed. "Of course," She whispered, her arm tightening in Sherlock's grasp.

Lancaster smiled and bowed his head before focusing on Sherlock. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, we meet at last." He replied, kindly. "How wonderful."

Sherlock's stoic face gave nothing away.

"I do apologize." Lancaster went on, turning to take off his apron and dipped his hands in a bowl of alcohol. "For your friend…what was his name…oh, yes, Thomas."

Sherlock stiffened and this time Molly was the one who calmed him.

"It was rather unfortunate but necessary."

"Necessary to kill an innocent boy?" Molly asked, her emotions rocking her voice.

Lancaster clicked his tongue and personified a sympathetic gaze. "In my business it is." He answered, lowly.

Molly felt her head shake in tiny tremors. "Father…"

He held up his hand. "Lessons, my dear girl, are sometimes hard. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Holmes?" He asked, focusing on Sherlock.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and slowly bowed his head.

"You see, Molly, your…companion agrees with me." Lancaster remarked, with a chuckle. "I'm assuming you're here because you want me to stop."

"Merely a…polite gesture," Sherlock responded, tightly.

Lancaster chuckled. "Well, then, how about a proposal, Mr. Holmes?" He began, stepping towards them. His face became stern and dark. "Leave my daughter out of the investigations and stop with your attempts of destruction on me and I'll leave you and your associates alone."

Molly felt Sherlock's stiffness and she shook her head. Before words could leave her throat, Sherlock smiled, darkly. "Touch her or anyone else, and destruction is the least of your problems, Lancaster," Sherlock remarked, his voice going deeper than Molly had ever heard.

Lancaster smiled and stepped closer. "So be it."

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I'm working to get updated with everything. Also, for those who followed the "July Sherlolly" story, I have decided to change the title to 221 Sherlolly. That way I can update whenever, and it can be a little longer. They will still be drabbles or short one-shots, so... I hope that's okay.**

 **I'll get the next chapter for this one as soon as can! :)**

 **Next Chapter: Danger at Home**

 **Until Next Time...**


	5. Danger at Home

**It's been a while. I'm sorry for the wait. Explanation below!**

 **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

"I am not going to stay here, Sherlock." Molly stated firmly with her arms crossing over her breasts. "I will not hide."

"It's not hiding, Molly." Sherlock reasoned with his hands in his pockets. "I can't protect you from a distance."

She almost melted. Almost. She hated the thought of him putting his life at risk by protecting her and she hated the thought of even hiding from her father. She hated ultimatums.

He sighed and approached her carefully. "I have already spoken to Mrs. Hudson and she has agreed to allow you to stay in Watson's old room."

Molly opened her mouth to protest. Clearly, he had thought of everything. "No place is safe, Sherlock. Not where my father is concerned. You know this."

His head bent to gaze into her eyes. "I know, which is why I want you at a discreet distance from me, where I can keep my eyes on you."

She swallowed. He was only doing this to protect her, but she hated it. "I'm not an invalid. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." He revealed with a coy smile. "But still, it would be safer and will ease my mind to know that you are close." He remarked, lowering his voice an octave.

His deep baritone voice resonated through her body and she gasped in a whisper. How could he do this to her? How?

"I need to know where you are, Molly. Lancaster will stop at nothing to keep me from bringing him down, and even though you are his daughter, you are also in danger." He stated, urgently.

She knew what he meant. It was no secret that her father would cross any line to get what he wanted. Thomas, the dear boy, was the perfect example. "What about my job? You can't expect me to just abandon my job."

He smiled and shook his head. "On the contrary, your job is a sanctuary. I am convinced that Lancaster has men in the Yard, but he would not act on attacking his daughter in the morgue."

"My father can surprise you." She muttered, turning her head away.

He sighed and cupped her chin with his right hand, turning her face to his. "I have made a request to my brother to place men around the morgue. He has conceded to do so." He revealed, deeply.

Her mouth opened and her eyes searched his. "What did you have to give up to make this request?" She inquired, knowing that Sherlock's brother Mycroft did nothing for free.

He shrugged. "Another game of wits," He answered, nonchalantly.

She smiled and knew that for the Holmes boys that was a compromise in itself. "What about here at Bakerstreet?"

He smiled and lowered his head. "Here too, but not too many. Mrs. Hudson owns several rifles and knows how to use knives and…you have me."

She couldn't contain the shiver as she smiled. "But you won't always be here, Sherlock."

"Neither will you. Since Watson is preoccupied with the baby, I would like you to accompany me on my inquiries."

Her breath stilled in her chest and she searched his eyes. "You wish me to go?"

He nodded curtly, rubbing his thumb over the smooth chin, just underneath her lower lip. "Yes, I do, Molly." He paused, searching her eyes with his deductive eyes. "How many times must I tell you that I value your opinion and enjoy your company?"

She sighed, lifting her hand to caress his wrist. "At least once a day, Mr. Holmes."

He smiled and stepped back. "Fetch some tea would you, Doctor Hooper. I need to think."

She hesitated, watching him as he sat in his chair. "What about my things?"

He waved his hand in a dismissive manner and folded his hands in front of his face. "Already sent for. They should be here by morning."

She glanced down at her attire and realized that the dress she had on, even though they were careful when returning from the meeting with her father, was not one that should be worn to sleep in.

"You and Mrs. Hudson are around the same size. I'm sure she has something you could borrow for the night."

She blushed as he seemed to read her thoughts and bowed her head, leaving him alone as he ventured into his mind palace.

 **~XXX~**

"Of course, dear, I may have something for you to borrow." Mrs. Hudson remarked, sympathetically.

"I hate to imposition you, Mrs. Hudson," Molly remarked as the older lady disappeared in the other room.

She returned a few moments later and waved off the younger girl's remarks. "It is no imposition, dear girl." She replied with a kind smile. "Sherlock explained everything and I am only too happy to help."

Molly smiled and held the night gown in her hands. "Thank you."

Mrs. Hudson smiled and bowed her head. "For a while, I thought Sherlock was going to be alone. I wondered that he might be of the 'other' persuasion, not that it matters, but…"

Molly felt her cheeks burn at the suggestion. Her eyes diverted to an area of no particular interest but her ears still remained focused on the other woman's words.

"It is good to see him care about someone other than himself." Mrs. Hudson added, kindly.

"He cares deeply, Mrs. Hudson. He just prefers not to show it."

"Oh, I know, dear." Mrs. Hudson confirmed, taking a deep breath. "But sometimes, his work leaves little in the social area, and in this day and age, that's a dark avenue to be."

"It is." Molly concurred, knowing how absorbed Sherlock could be with his work. "I better get upstairs." She whispered, turning.

"Ms. Hooper," Mrs. Hudson called, stopping the young girl. "He will protect you. He always protects those he cares for."

Molly lifted her head slowly nodded, understanding the message Mrs. Hudson was trying to send. "Good night, Mrs. Hudson."

"Good night, dear."

 **~XXX~**

The night was long and full of anxiety. Molly frowned as she stared up at the ceiling of John's old room. She had her doubts, still had them about staying under the same roof of a man who was not her husband, but Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock had informed her that no one would say anything to her for it was no one's business.

That made her smile.

He was protecting not only her life but her reputation.

She never understood how anyone could call him heartless, but then again, when she first met him she thought him as such, but after he kept her true identity a secret, claiming that she was the best examiner he had ever worked with, she saw him in a different light.

Her bare feet touched the floor as she climbed out and slipped on one of Sherlock's spare dressing gowns. With a precision as to not disturb the others in the building, she crept out and down the stairs. She paused at the foot when she saw his door open, and with a smile, she entered the living area. He was surely asleep by now.

Walking towards the small sofa, she climbed onto it and watched the flames in the fireplace flicker. Her eyes began to droop as she watched them and her mind formed a blank realm as she drifted into a deep slumber.

There she dreamed…

" _Touch her or anyone else, and destruction is the least of your problems, Lancaster."_

 _She tensed under her father's gaze and tried to shrink into the warmth of the man behind her, but she found him gone._

 _Turning, her eyes widened as she saw her father now pushing him against the railing and with a determination, she ran towards him._

" _No!"_

" _Why do you defy me?!"_

 _She swallowed holding Sherlock's arm with her hands. Her strength growing with each flicker of her lashes. "Because I trust him!"_

" _I'm your father!"_

 _She glanced at Sherlock and pulled him towards her with his body blocking hers._

" _I'm hers."_

 _His words vibrated through her soul and her eyes flickered up to catch his. Suddenly, they were in the living room and his hands were on her face. "Trust me."_

" _I do."_

"I do…I do…"

"Molly…Molly, please wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped, sitting up with her hands going to her chest and throat. "Sherlock…"

He sighed and nodded. "You were talking in your sleep."

"I was?"

He nodded with mild aggravation. "You were shouting 'no' and then 'I do'." He revealed, and with subtle blinks, she focused her eyes and sighed.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, realizing that she had disturbed his sleep. "I woke you."

He shook his head. "No, I was not asleep. I heard you come down and lay on the sofa. I thought it best not to disturb you."

She smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

He bowed his head in confirmation. "The dream disturbed you." He stated as she sat up with a nervous look.

"Not as much as others have."

"What was this one?" He inquired, carefully.

She rubbed her eyes. "I dreamed my father came after you and wanted me to choose between you and him." She revealed, shaking her head. "He tried to push you over the railing like Moriarty attempted at the waterfall, and you asked me to trust you."

"That's where the 'I do' came in."

She nodded. "Sherlock, my father will try everything to get me to side with him, especially against you. I realize that now."

His hands covered hers and his eyes burrowed into hers. "He can try."

She smiled, sadly. "You trust me that much. You trust me not to betray you."

He nodded, firmly, his gaze piercing and his voice deep in timbre and dark. "I trust you with my life, Molly Hooper."

She felt his words vibrate in her being and she watched him with careful eyes. "What did I do to deserve such trust?" She asked, gently.

He slowly stood up, releasing her hands and placed his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown. "You were not him."

 **~XXX~**

She stayed the rest of the night on the sofa, not caring if someone should enter the flat and come up on her there in nothing but one of Sherlock's dressing gowns and Mrs. Hudson's nightgown.

She made her way into the kitchen, appreciative of Sherlock's respect for her privacy and for the blanket he had somehow draped over her during the night.

She let her hair fall down her back, grateful for the moment that she did not have to wear the wig, and prepared to fix the morning breakfast.

She sighed, as the eggs boiled a few minutes. Her mind drifting towards the night before and the nightmare which had disturbed her and him for only a brief moment.

She recalled the final words Sherlock spoke to her before leaving her alone for the rest of the night. She was not him. The four words brought her peace as she had drifted off to sleep once more and her mind had welcomed the sense of calm.

"Mrs. Hudson usually makes breakfast."

She jumped around as his words vibrated through her person. "Oh…well…I…"

He lifted his hand. "You do not have to explain."

She felt her cheeks twinge with heat as she bowed her head before turning to see about the eggs. "I usually have eggs and toast."

He hummed, entering the kitchen. "Sounds good."

She smiled, lifting her eyes to find him standing next to her. "Yes, I made enough for you."

He smirked and glanced down at her. Her hair was long, past her breasts which the dressing gown had somehow opened to reveal the semi-low-cut night gown. The sight gave her an exotic appeal and caused his heart to beat in an irregular form. She was so relaxed in this state and it warmed him to know that he was the only one to see her in such a way.

She studied his eyes as he studied her and she witnessed the flames in them as he absorbed the way her body fit into the gown. "I'm not as…built as Mrs. Hudson." She whispered, noting how the gown was a tad bigger at the top.

He smiled, tenderly before masking his features and shook his head. "You're perfect, Molly Hooper." He uttered under his breath, so she wasn't sure if she heard him correctly.

She quickly turned to turn her eggs off and placed a few slices of bread on the stove, amazed that he would have one in this time when few flats had the privilege, but then again this was Sherlock.

He watched her with ease. It amazed him to see such a worldly woman of this age easily transform from a working-class mortician to an everyday, sensual woman.

His brow furrowed as the last word repeated in his mind. Sensual…Molly Hooper?

He swallowed as she placed the food on two plates and quickly cleaned up. Yes, she was sensual. She was without trying and that was what made it hard for him to think.

"I made some coffee if you would be so kind." She remarked turning, but not meeting his gaze.

He nodded, snapping out of his daze and helped with morning drinks. He turned to carry the cups towards the table when a glint from the far window caught his eye. Carefully setting the cups down, he narrowed his eyes as he studied the glint for a brief moment. Everything went by slowly, as he saw a flash and with quick precision, he grasped Molly in his arms and pulled her down onto the floor.

Molly gasped and was about to ask what was his intentions when shattered glass and a ring of shots cascaded around them.

She clutched at him as he covered her head with his arms and fought the urge to scream.

The scattered gunshots stopped and he held her for a moment longer before releasing her to slowly stand. The window was shattered. There were holes in the walls. The breakfast remained undisturbed except for a few spilled spots of coffee. He heard the door open downstairs, and he moved quickly to the door.

He grasped his gun from the drawer along the way and waited as the door opened and he sighed as one of his brother's men entered. "Well?"

The man swallowed and shook his head. "He disappeared by the time we made it across the street."

Sherlock cursed lowly before nodding. His eyes moved to Molly, who was carefully standing, gripping the table with her hands.

His flat was no longer safe.

Lancaster had attacked his home.

Her eyes lifted and biting her lip, she ran towards his open arms. The gentleman at the door sent Sherlock a sympathetic look before bowing his head and leaving them alone.

Sherlock rocked her in his arms, worry filled him at the prospect that the bullets could have gotten her.

"Why would he try to kill me?" She asked with her voice wavering with emotion.

Sherlock bowed his head to rest his cheek on the top of her head. "Not you."

She stiffened and lifted her head to gaze at his. "You?" She paused seeing his answer in his eyes. "He does not want me with you, helping you." She added, her tears falling down her cheeks.

He shook his head. "Perhaps, I'm being selfish, but…" He paused and searched her eyes. "I don't think I can do this without you, Molly Hooper."

She smiled, feeling her body shake in the aftermath, but she forced it to calm down. In Sherlock's own words, he needed her, and that was enough to stand strong against the attempts on their lives.

"Well then, what's our next step?"

He smiled and pulled her close. "Now, we take the fight to him."

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I should tell you all that I'm working on my Masters in History, and I'm expected to finish in December. Thankfully! I say this because by December I have to have a 75 to 100-page thesis done, even though I have some time, I may take time between updates, but I will do my best! Wish me luck and please be patient! I will update, maybe once a week, depending on my time.**

 **Next Chapter: Clues**

 **Until Next Time...**


	6. Clues

**It's been a while, but I must say... I HAVE MY MASTERS! Now the job search begins... Anyway...**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

"Attacking his own daughter. I never." Mrs. Hudson remarked, shaking her head as she helped clean the damage from the morning.

Molly closed her eyes and slowly sank into the chair behind her. Her hands slid down the handle of the broom, with her forehead resting on the handle. Her body finally had stopped shaking from the shooting, and her heart ceased the pounding.

"Oh, my dear, are you alright?"

Molly lifted her head and eyes to Mrs. Hudson. "Yes, I'm fine." She answered, slowly.

Mrs. Hudson tilted her head to the side and stepped towards the young girl. Her heart was in her eyes as she observed the distress. "Ms. Hooper, you are anything but fine."

She sighed and moved her eyes to the broken window. "I never intended for any of this to happen."

"Oh, I know, dear, and so does Sherlock."

Molly gripped the broom tight in her hands. "My father…he's a dangerous man. I have always known that, but this…" She paused, her eyes watering with unshed tears. "Coming after Sherlock with me here…"

"Sherlock can handle this. He did a pretty good job watching out for you when the bullets came in; I must say."

"Yes, he did, but this would not have happened if I had…" She began, pausing when she saw him stop in the doorway.

Mrs. Hudson bowed her head, sensing the privacy needed, turned on her heel and moved towards the door. She lifted her eyes to Sherlock and placed her hand on his arm. "Be careful." She whispered, before brushing past him down the stairs.

Sherlock sighed and closed the door before moving in strides towards Molly. "This was not your fault."

"Of all the things to start with…"

"It is not your fault, Molly Hooper."

She lifted her eyes to his and relinquished the broom as he tugged it out of her hands. "If I had not agreed to stay here…"

"If you had not, then I would not have been able to protect you, not to mention, I believe I would not have been as an alert if you had not been here."

She heard his words and even felt them. Her eyes lowered to the floor beneath her feet and sensed him sitting next to her.

"Molly,"

His voice caressed her name with the deep baritone note and she shivered inwardly. With slow movements, she raised her eyes to capture his. She saw his determination and his pain. Lifting her right hand, she touched his face. "I did not want you to go through this."

He chuckled, though it was more of a sarcastic chuckle. "Molly, I would be in this…game with your father with or without you in it." He stated, firmly.

"That's just it, Sherlock." She returned, lowering her hand. "It's not a game. My father will kill you. He proved that today."

"So, could have Moriarty and Magnussen. I survived both times."

"But this is my father. I know how he thinks. He will look for a weakness and a strength and push both until you break. His mind is different than Moriarty's and Magnussen's."

Sherlock smiled and leaned closer, placing his hands-on top of hers. "That's why I asked for your help, Molly. You know him better than I could possibly. If I…we…are going to survive this, then we need to do it together."

His face held sincerity and she knew without asking what he meant. Slowly, a smile touched her face and she gave in. He was right. If they were going to catch her father, they needed to work together and work together they shall.

"Alright," She whispered, let out a quick breath. "I need to get to the morgue. Anderson probably has a workload he needs help on."

Sherlock lifted one of her hands and kissed the back of it. "That's my girl."

She blushed and return the squeeze of his hand. "Now, let's finish cleaning up so I can go to work. I would hate to have you criticize Anderson on a poor performance when I am not there to assist."

"Why the blazes do you even have that incompetent man working for you?" Sherlock asked, after a moment, helping her stand.

She laughed and lifted her face to catch his eyes. "Because I needed help and Anderson was a…stable choice."

He hummed and pulled her closer. "Or could it have been because he is so incompetent that he makes you indispensable, Doctor?" His question sent shivers through her body as his voice lowered an octave.

She smiled, a conspiring smile and shrugged. "Think what you will, Mr. Holmes." She answered, stepping back to grasp the broom to continuing sweeping, leaving Sherlock with a small smile on his face.

 **~XXX~**

"Anderson, I need those instruments cleaned and placed in the respective places before you leave today."

Anderson, her gangly assistant, nodded and gathered the instruments in his hands. "Yes, sir, Doctor Hooper."

Molly nodded and moved to her desk to write down her findings on the latest victim on her table. She frowned as she wrote the victim had actually died of natural causes. The heart having been covered in fatty tissue gave the conclusion of…

"Heart attack,"

She lifted her eyes and smirked at Sherlock's quiet deduction. "Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes." She remarked in a husky tone.

He hummed and motioned to the body. "It's elementary, Doctor. The excess weight and age, coupled with untimely demise gave the cause of death rather simply."

She scoffed and shook her head. "Of course, but then I'm not being paid to make deductions, but merely to ascertain the cause of death by using facts extrapolated by examinations." She returned, standing up, as she laid her pen to the desk.

He smirked and approached her. "Surely, a keen observer such as yourself noticed the cause before cutting him open." He observed with a deep tone.

"If I had, then I still would have needed proof to substantiate my claims." She countered, with a small smile.

He returned the smile and bowed his head. "Yes, but admit it, you knew before you performed the autopsy."

She sighed with a roll of her eyes and nodded. "Alright, Holmes, I did know he died of a heart attack before I cut his chest open."

He nodded, proud that he won that round of wits with her. "Excellent, Doctor."

She chuckled and made a mark on the paper before signing her name on the certificate. "Is there something you wanted besides engaging me in a battle of wits with my client?"

He smirked, showing off a gleam in his eyes. "I merely stopped by to see if you had anything useful, pertaining to…our…case." He answered, lowering his voice so only she could answer.

She lifted her head and curtly nodded, glancing in the direction of her assistant who was finishing up the last instrument. "He'll be finished soon." She revealed, lowly.

Sherlock nodded and moved around to lift the papers she had been keeping on the bodies she performed on today and thumbed through them. She could have stopped him, but there would have been no use. Sherlock was inquisitive, and she admired that about him.

The sliding of a draw told her Anderson had completed the tasks he had been given and she watched as he approached them, nervously.

She nodded. "All placed correctly in the drawers?"

"Yes, Doctor," Anderson remarked, shifting his eyes back and forth between her and Sherlock. "Anything else?"

Molly shook her head. "No, that will be all, Anderson. I'll cover the body. The family has arranged to pick it up tomorrow morning. I may be a little late, so I trust you can handle the exchange."

Anderson's eyes lit up and he nodded. "Yes, sir, I can."

She smirked. "Alright, make sure all the papers are signed or marked, and the correct ones are given to the family and a copy for ourselves." She instructed, with a stern tone.

He nodded and smiled even brighter. "I'll do my best."

"You better to much better than your best, Anderson. When I come in tomorrow, I better find an organized mortuary and the correct papers on my desk."

"Yes, sir, I will do that."

Molly bowed her head. "Very well, I shall see you tomorrow around noon or just a little later if possible. I'm not sure how long I will be."

"Yes, sir, thank you."

"Don't thank me until the job is done." Molly returned, her voice dark, causing Sherlock to smirk at the reaction.

Anderson swallowed and turned to leave. "Tomorrow then, Doctor."

"Tomorrow, Anderson"

He left quickly and Molly breathed a sigh of relief when she was sure he had left.

"Are you sure you can trust him with the job as important as that?" Sherlock inquired, with a teasing light.

She glared at him and rolled her eyes. "He has to learn sometime, besides, everything is filled out, all that is required is the family's signature on two documents and one to the family and one kept here."

"Such a unique technique,"

She nodded and shrugged. "I adapted it from the previous coroner. This way there will be a record of the deaths and in the future, should any descendants wish to know, all they will have to do is look at the certificate to know for certain."

"How very modern of you., Doctor," Sherlock remarked with pride.

She blushed and shrugged once more. "It is not much, but I feel that it will help them all in the long run. I believe that the heart attacks are partially caused by hereditary means."

"Interesting theory, do tell," Sherlock stated, intrigued.

She licked her lips. "Well, most of what I can determine, we inherit many aspects of our personalities and even our physical characteristics from our parents, who is to say we do not inherit other health issues from them as well."

"Brilliant observation," Sherlock observed, holding her eyes. "I am guessing the others in the scientific community do not share your observations."

She shook her head, sadly. "No, they need more proof, which is what I have been trying to gather. It's like John Snow a few years ago, having dismissed the idea contaminated water as the source of the cholera outbreak instead of the miasma."

"Yes, I remember, Doctor Snow and I spent hours trying to determine the source of the illnesses. His solution, I admit, was genius."

Molly smiled at the admiration in Sherlock's tone. "Yes, I believe he said the same about you."

He shrugged. "Well, of course, I am, after all, a genius."

She scoffed at his reaction and turned to pull a folder from one of her drawers. "Before your head becomes enlarged, I went back over the reports of Thomas' autopsy and even took the liberty of going through his clothes and Heathrow's as well. I found traces of gunpowder on the coats, which was what I expected, but I also found something else." She began, waiting for Sherlock to figure it out.

He read over the findings and paused as he came across what she had just described. "Ink…"

"Yes, I found traces of ferrous sulfate and gum. Two components of ink wells used for writing, but not stable enough for a printing press." Molly revealed, lifting her ink well.

Sherlock took the well from her hand and held it up to his nose. A woodsy smell greeted his senses and he hummed as the fruity texture replaced the woodsy smell. He lowered the well to the desk and frowned. "Where do you buy your ink from?"

Molly shrugged. "Same place as everyone else on this street."

His brow furrowed deeper if that was possible, and he hummed. "You don't make it?"

Molly gave him a hard glare. "No, I do not. I rarely have time to go buy it. Usually, I send Anderson." She remarked, roughly.

He contained the smirk on his face and shook his head. "What was so unusual about the ink on their clothes?" He asked, his eyes skimming over the paper in his hands.

She turned and approached the clothes on the table and lifted them towards him. "See for yourself," She remarked, and he grasped the clothes before lifting it to his nose.

Instead of the woodsy smell of the ink on Molly's desk, the ink on the clothes held more of a flowery perfume with a slight touch of fruit. "This is different ink."

She nodded. "That was my conclusion."

"Well done, Dr. Hooper." Sherlock praised, lowering the clothes back on the table.

She hid her blush and stepped back a few feet. "There are different forms of ink, but this one…I know I have smelled it before."

He hummed and turned to the ink well on her desk. "Some people have a practice of buying unique ink for their wells. Those who still use the ink wells."

"Yes, my boss keeps trying to force me to use those…pens."

"They may prove useful at some point."

She moved her head and hummed as she stepped close to him. "They may, but for now I can only use inkwells and quills."

He turned and faced her with an intent gaze. "The world is changing, Molly Hooper. Soon, we will have no choice but to move with the times."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cleared his throat and stepped around her. "Where are you off too?"

He paused, slipping on his jacket. "There is someone I have to see." He answered, glancing over his shoulder. "Would you like to accompany me?"

She smiled. "As Dr. Hooper or Molly?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

He smiled, his cheeks forming small dents at the amusement in her eyes. "Both, but honestly, a change in clothes would not be preferable, especially where we are going."

She shifted and moved towards him, grasping her jacket from the chair and slipped it on. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock sighed. "To see someone who knows about perfume."

She froze and lifted her eyes. "You don't mean…"

He nodded and brushed his fingers over her face, lightly before slipping them into his jacket pockets. "Yes, I do." He paused, waiting for her to step ahead of him. "The Woman…"

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I wanted this chapter to be longer, but this felt like a good place to stop.**

 **I'm hoping to get back in the groove of writing, so...**

 **Next Chapter: The Woman**

 **Until Next Time...**


	7. The Woman

**Sorry for taking so long to update. Explanation will be at the bottom.**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

The Woman.

Two words Molly could safely say unnerved her. She only seen The Woman once before in the distance and it was enough to gather a reading.

It was not as if Molly hated her, on the contrary, she found her interesting. It was the way she flaunted her body and other aspects in front of Sherlock that made Molly seethe with jealousy.

The Woman, otherwise known as Irene Adler, earned the moniker for the way she had matched wits with Sherlock. Some would say she beat him, but Molly never asked the details and did not listen to the rumors.

She did know that Irene had earned Sherlock's respect and had proven very useful in gathering information. Information they could not gather on their own.

The area of London they were entering would and possibly should have given Molly some pause; however, dressed in men's clothing, she felt rather safe. Sometimes, the clothing she wore was a barrier. A protective sheathe from the world outside.

"What do you expect to find here, Holmes?" She asked, her voice deep and distant.

Sherlock sighed and lifted one shoulder. "I am uncertain. It is doubtful Adler may know what we are searching for, but she may can give us a clue as to where to look next."

She nodded; certain the answer was plausible. The stench emanating from the alleyways reminded her of corpses but with a slight alcohol twinge. She tightened her coat around her, lifting her shoulders in a protective stance, trying to protect herself from the barrage of foul language coming from the buildings.

"You could have returned to Bakerstreet, Hooper." Sherlock uttered for only her ears.

She lifted her face to his and saw the flash of sympathy. "I was not about to allow you to come to this place alone."

"Oh, don't be absurd, Hooper." Sherlock scoffed, his eyes twinkling slightly from her words. "No one would have bothered me."

"Still,"

He stopped and turned to face her. His eyes burned into hers as his next words eased her tension. "I gave you the option, Molly." He began, saying her name in a whisper. "You could have declined to come, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you did. Not for your benefit but for my own. If your father knew you were alone, heaven knows what he would have done."

She smiled, understanding his words more than anyone who could have heard. He cared for her well-being and wanted her by his side. The emotion, he rarely showed, shined through his eyes, and it pained her to pull away from his gaze.

Turning towards the street once more, they continued on their designated route. A few short minutes they arrived and Molly's stiffness eased with a slight touch of Sherlock's hand.

The door opened before the bell's ringing could end and Sherlock and Molly bowed their heads at the older lady on the other side.

"Good evening, we are here to see Ms. Adler, if she is in." Sherlock remarked, stiffly.

The older woman eyed them with a scrutiny that made Molly want to squirm or lash out, but she held her tongue.

"Ms. Adler is with another client at the moment."

"We would not mind waiting." Sherlock returned, noting the hostility in the woman's tone. "Just tell her that Sherlock Holmes is here to see her."

If there was a name which carried weight throughout London it was his. The woman straightened and her eyes widened dramatically which Molly thought would fall out of her head. She lifted her wrinkled hands to her head and pushed a few strands of gray hair up, attempting to place them back in the sloppy bun behind her head.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, forgive me. Do come in. I'll just inform her at once." The woman rushed them in and closed the door, ushering them into the sitting room down the hall.

"There is no hurry, madam." Sherlock responded, glancing at Molly, who clenched her jaw.

He smirked as the other lady left them alone and motioned to the fancy clothed chair in front of the fireplace. "We may be awhile. Irene likes to keep me waiting."

"I imagine she does." Molly uttered, hoping he would not hear.

But if she had turned to face him, she would have seen the smirk on his face, letting her know that he did in fact hear her.

Light footsteps caused them to turn and focus on the woman in the doorway, draped in nothing but pantaloons, a corset top, and a silk robe.

Molly swallowed hard and stood up, leaning towards Sherlock unconsciously.

The brunette in the doorway leaned to the side with a smirk on her face. "Sherlock, darling, you didn't tell me you were coming and bringing a…delicious young client." She remarked in a sultry tone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is not a client, Irene. This is my associate, Dr. Hooper."

Irene hummed and straightened, walking towards them with her hand straightened out. "Oh, Dr. Hooper, it's a pleasure." She introduced taking Molly's hand in hers. Her eyes narrowed and she studied Molly for a brief moment. "I should congratulate you, Doctor. Not many women have the guts to pull this off."

Molly stiffened and lifted her chin. "Pull what off?"

Irene smiled and dropped her hand. "Practicing a man's profession even though you are a woman." She turned and sat down elegantly in one of the chairs. "It explains why Sherlock is keeping you around. Fascinating."

Molly's eyes lowered and she cleared her throat.

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear. We women should always support each other in these times. Honestly, men are not the only ones who are short sighted when it comes to what we can or cannot do."

That was true. Molly knew in these times men were not so readily accepting of a woman doctor. She recalled one such woman a few years back, disguised as a man for decades and had been a prominent doctor. If the world had known all her accomplishments would have faded or been discredited by society.

"Well, what can I do for you, darling?" Irene inquired, shifting her gaze to Sherlock.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and leaned his head forward. "Information,"

"Tch," She moved her head to the side. "You know how I work, Sherlock. Depending on the information."

He smirked. "Perfume and ink." He stated, stepping forward with an object in his hand.

Molly's eyes widened slightly, realizing that it was a piece of Thomas' clothing. How dare he remove evidence!

"This is a piece of clothing from a murdered boy. The ink on the sleeve has a peculiar scent."

Irene leaned forward and retrieved the object from Sherlock's hand. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled a few times and hummed. "Ah, yes, this is high quality ink. It's mixed with some of the substances of perfume, usually for high society ladies." She remarked, returning the item.

"Where is it sold?" Sherlock asked, placing the item back in his pocket.

Irene shrugged. "Mostly in the rich part of London. This particular ink, though, is special made. Only one shop I know deals with special made ink. I could…um…give you the address. For a price, of course."

"Is there any other kind with you, Adler?" Sherlock returned, glancing at Molly, who shifted uneasily on her feet.

Irene stood up and gracefully walked towards Molly, eyeing her with a calm scrutiny. "I only wish a few moments with your…associate, and then I'll tell you."

Sherlock opened his mouth to decline, but Molly interjected with a nod.

"I won't hurt her, darling. I just…have some inquiries of my own." She remarked, calmly. "Won't take but a few moments."

Sherlock clenched his jaw and with a supportive glance, marched out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Irene smiled and motioned to the seat. "Please, have a seat, Dr. Hooper."

Molly sank into the chair, but her back remained straight, bracing for whatever assault The Woman had in mind.

Irene slid her legs over the other and draped her arm over the back of the seat, giving a seductive stance. "Tell me, between women, how ever did you earn the great Sherlock Holmes' respect?"

Molly lifted her head and opened her mouth. "I don't know what you mean."

Irene's arm slid down and she leaned forward. "Sherlock is known around the ladies circle as being a bit…odd when it comes to women, because he rarely shows interest in anything but cases."

"He respects you." Molly returned, with slight hesitance.

"Does he?" Irene asked with sarcasm. "I suppose he's more fascinated with me than anything because my mind works like his, but I've never been able to get as close to him as you, it seems."

"I…"

Irene smiled, kindly. "He's fascinated by you as well, isn't he?"

Molly shrugged. "I really can't say." She paused, licking her lips. "I suppose I appeal to him because I'm a woman, pretending to be a man to do what I enjoy."

"It's more than that." Irene speculated, her eyes narrowing. "I've seen the way he looks at you. Granted you've been here only a few moments, but I see what others don't wish me to see. He cares for you, deeply, and you for him."

Molly blushed and bowed her head. "It's…more than that."

Irene moved closer to Molly and grasped her hands in hers. "I've always admired Sherlock because of his mind. I'll always respect him for honoring his word, but," She began with a low tone. "I've never had any hope of receiving his love because there was always a barrier between him and the world. Today, I've seen just what I never hoped."

"What is that?" Molly whispered, realizing how much of a confident she could have with this woman.

"His barrier collapsing." Irene revealed, her eyes holding Molly's with a firm gaze. "Be careful with that heart of his and with yours. I may not have his love, but I do care for him."

Molly swallowed and bowed her head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you, Dr. Hooper." Irene answered, truthfully. "I admire what your standing for, just like Margaret Bulkley nearly two decades ago." She paused with a smile. "Of course, she would be before our time, as it were, but still a woman who dressed as a man just be a doctor…how could you not admire her?"

Molly laughed and nodded. "She was an interesting person, so I've been told."

"And yet, her name is hardly mentioned in polite company."

"Even in medical school, it was unwise to mention her name."

"Women have come a long way in recent years, and I look forward to the day when you and I won't have to put a show for men."

"So, do I, Ms. Adler."

Irene smiled and nodded. "The place you and Sherlock are looking for is on Warwick Street passed the crossroads of Glasshouse and Vigo Street."

"Where Warwick ends?"

Irene nodded. "Yes, the place is called Words of Love. Ask for Henri and you should have the answer your looking for."

Molly smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Adler."

"It's Irene, darling."

Molly bowed her head. "Molly."

Irene smiled and nodded. "Doctor Molly Hooper. It's a pleasure."

"Thank you again. I'll inform Sherlock." Molly responded, standing.

"One more thing, Molly."

Molly turned from the door and held her breathe for the tone gave her pause.

Irene stood and turned towards her. "Though Sherlock may have your interests at heart, be careful, for I know 'He' would use that against him."

Molly swallowed. Her heart stilled in her chest for a split moment before picking up once again, faster and harder than before. "He?"

Irene's face became solemn. "Your father,"

"How?" Molly's question came in a whisper.

"I suspected when your last name was spoken, but your first name confirmed it for me." Irene approached her with a smooth gait as her voice lowered. "Very few people in London know the truth about your parentage, be grateful for that. For others may not be so understanding."

Molly unfurled her fist, she had clenched tightly, and let out a quick breath.

Irene's gaze became tender as she leaned forward. "Your father is a dangerous man, one of the few men in this city I avoid at all costs, but if you ever need help in any way, come to me."

In that brief moment, Molly understood what the older woman was telling her. With a nod of her head, she opened the door and rejoined Sherlock in the hallway.

With no words, she exited the home and didn't look back.

 **~XXX~**

"You have been unusually quiet since returning from The Woman's home." Sherlock observed, later the afternoon after she had changed into a suitable dressing gown and let her hair fall down her shoulders.

Molly held the cup in her hands and lifted her eyes to find his watching her. "I apologize."

"What did she say to you?" Sherlock asked, carefully.

She shifted in the couch and lowered her eyes to the almost empty cup of tea. "Nothing I haven't already heard in some form."

"And what might that be?"

She finished the cup and placed it on the table in front of the couch. "Irene knew who I was, even without using my father's name."

"I see."

Molly stood up and sauntered over towards the desk next to the window, which was closed and covered for the night. "You never asked, but Hooper is my mother's maiden name. She didn't want…my relation to him to taint my future."

"I suspected you used your mother's name." He replied, rising from the chair to stand behind her.

"Still, Irene knew." She paused, licking her lips, refusing to turn around. "If she knew, then…"

"Irene knew because of the circles she travels, Molly. That is all."

His urgent reply sent relief through her, but only vague relief.

"What else did she say?" He asked, when she remained quiet. "Her knowing who you really are would not have placed you in a quiet state, and that is not something you have already heard, to my knowledge. What did she say?"

Molly swallowed and her eyes closed. How could she face him? How could she believe what The Woman said to be true? "I'm uncertain where to begin." She whispered, feeling him close the distance between them.

"She discussed my…feelings, did she not?"

Molly whirled around and her eyes widened. "How…You were listening outside." She deduced, watching his lips curl, slightly.

"I only heard bits of the conversation." He revealed, casually. "It would have been impolite to listen too closely."

"When has that ever stopped you?" She asked, eyes focused on his.

"Never, but I respect your privacy, Molly, and I knew you would tell me the truth of your conversation. You have never lied to me."

"And I never shall." She uttered, truthfully.

"I know." He raised his right hand to cup her chin in the crook of his pointer finger and lifted her face even more to his. "You were right. I do respect Irene, but I respect and…care for you more." His thumb traced her smooth chin and her mouth opened a fraction. "I have said before, and it seems it bears repeating, but I am a selfish person, Molly Hooper. I should have denied your assistance with this case, but I wanted…needed you."

Her vision became blurry with emotion and she stepped closer to him, feeling his body heat mix with hers. "Perhaps I'm being selfish too. I don't want to see you get hurt, Sherlock. I couldn't bear it, especially now." She added in a low whisper.

He smiled, caressing her chin. "Two selfish people. What pair are we?"

She released a short laugh and placed her right hand on his face. "We are quite the pair."

He studied her features for a long minute, taking in every curve and freckle on her face. "If the case gets too rough or if something where to happen to me,"

"Sherlock," She gasped and his finger touched her lips.

"Promise me, you will go to Adler. She will help you get out of London, safely."

"I'm not going to leave you, Holmes."

He sighed and shook his head in a soft gesture. "Promise me, Molly. Nothing is more important than your safety."

A single tear fell down her cheek as his words soaked through her skin into her heart. His finger traced the trail and caught the tear and for a brief moment, she knew Irene Adler was right.

Sherlock Holmes did care for her, deeply. He may not voice it, but she knew he was a man of action than words.

Tracing his jaw, lightly, she inhaled deeply. "Nothing is more important than yours." She returned, vehemently.

He opened his mouth but no words formed. Instead, he gathered her in his arms and held her in the quiet, serene flat. In the silence, he vowed he would do whatever it took to keep her safe from her father, even if that meant giving his life in the process.

He just hoped it would not come to that.

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **Again, I'm sorry for taking so long to update. Alot has happened in the past few months,which caused me to have writers block.**

 **First, my grandfather passed away, and then my mom had a melanoma cut off her leg, and she had to stay off of it for two to eight weeks, and then just a few weeks ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I've been on a whirlwind trying to gather my bearings.**

 **I hope this chapter was done well. Forgive the grammar errors, I thought I caught them all, but who knows. I may have missed some. LOL**

 **Next Chapter: Perfume**

 **Until Next Time...**


	8. Perfume

**THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH! (Especially to my friend: GoodShipSherlollipop for the tips on how to improve my grammar! I hope I did better in this chapter! Much thanks and love!)**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

Placing the last pin in her hair, she lowered her eyes and her mind drifted back over the last few weeks. In those short weeks, her father had reemerged in London, for what purpose, she had yet to deduce. She had been introduced to The Woman, and most importantly, her relationship with Sherlock Holmes had shifted.

Or at least it felt as if it had. She could not pinpoint it, but the idea of their relationship shifting into something more than colleagues was thrilling for her.

She gracefully traveled down the stairs to the main flat and entered with a tiny smile. She gripped her hands in front of her and watched him with interest as he stared into the fireplace with his hands behind his back.

She opened her mouth to inform him of her readiness, but he stopped her as he turned.

"Hooper, good, shall we?"

She tilted her head to the side and accepted his arm after he slid on his coat and hat. "Are you alright?"

Her words were calm and full of concern. He paused at the door and caught her eyes. Sadness in his eyes dissipated for a moment before he nodded. "Never better"

She hummed and slowly walked beside him, pausing when he opened the front door at the bottom to allow her to exit first. She sensed his uneasiness and knew it was not from the meeting the day before with Irene.

They climbed into the coach and Molly waited while Sherlock instructed the driver as to where to go. He settled across from her which gave her an opportunity to study him. "You are not alright, Holmes."

His eyes raised and searched hers. He should have deduced he could not hide anything from her. Of all the people in his life, she was the main one who saw through his façade. Lifting his left hand, he produced an envelope from his inside jacket and handed it to her.

"This arrived early this morning."

She accepted the envelope and her brow furrowed with questions. "From who?"

He inhaled and his voice became dark and distant. "Lancaster"

She tensed and gasped before opening the envelope and pulled out the letter. Her eyes widened and anger seeped through her veins as she read the contents.

 _I see you have not heeded my request to leave her out of your investigation, Sherlock Holmes. Know this, if you continue on this venture, I will take from you the one thing you have no right to hold._

 _I'm sure you know of how far my reach can go, and I assure you no matter how you try to justify your actions I know the truth._

 _Daughter or no. I will stop you._

Time stood still for Molly as the last words drifted off the page into her mind. Her father was threatening Sherlock. He was threatening her. Hands engulfed hers but her eyes remained glued to the parchment in her hands.

"Molly"

She swallowed and gradually raised her eyes to his. "He threatened you." Her voice was barely audible, but Sherlock heard the fear and anger in the words.

"Yes," he choked out. "But I've been threatened before."

"Sherlock, we've been over this." She paused, leaning forward. Her eyes focused on his eyes with an intensity that burned into his soul. "I'm not letting you do this alone."

His silence spoke volumes to her and she drew courage from that moment. Lifting his hands to her lips, she kissed them with a tenderness which brought tears to her own eyes. The action made his hands curve under her chin and raised her face to his. Even in the slight bumping of the coach, they were still.

"He says I have no right to hold you." His voice displayed the brokenness in his eyes and the deep baritone reverberated through her.

"You have more right than he does, Sherlock," she responded, fervently. Even more so, she thought, privately.

His expression gave nothing away as he searched her eyes. Pulling her closer, as close as he could across the middle of the coach, his forehead touched her. His nose brushed over hers in an intimate action which resulted in her holding her breath.

They were so close. If she lifted her face even a fraction, their lips would touch. Her nerves tingled at the thought. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she craved the slightest movement.

Sherlock breathed in her scent from his position. She was right, he did have a right to hold her. Perhaps because of selfish reasons, but he did not care. She was here, openly saying that she belonged to him.

As he belonged to her.

The coach stopped before another motion could be formed and Sherlock breathed in and out as he slid back and opened the door. Standing at the bottom, he grasped her hand and held it gently as she stepped out of the coach.

Wrapping her arm through his, they strolled down Warwick Street. "What was the name of the shop again?" he asked, glancing at her for a moment.

"Words of Love"

"Ah, how presumptuous of them,"

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head and motioned to the store a few feet of them. "Instead of naming it something that would be simple and careful, they name it 'Words of Love'," he scoffed. "As if ink could create love."

"It's the words they refer to, Sherlock," Molly retorted with a smile. "The words which the ink generate can be powerful enough to create emotion, even love."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "If one wants to capture love, one can just as well speak it."

"Have you ever?" she inquired, her eyes lighting up at the discussion.

"Have I what?"

"Spoken the words to capture love."

He cleared his throat and stopped mid-step. Turning to face her, his eyes bored into hers. "Why would I need to capture love when it can or will be given to me?"

His voice became sensual as he spoke and her heart skipped a beat at the intensity. If he was not holding onto her, she was sure to melt into the cobblestones of the street. Could he feel something deeper for her than he allotted? She knew he did care, but the depth of those feelings had yet to be realized.

He jerked his eyes from hers and opened the door to the shop, smiling somewhat as she entered first. His smile faded after she passed and he tried to gather his thoughts. He had to be careful. The letter almost gave it away. Thankfully, Molly did not question him about the second clause Lancaster had written down.

If she pieced it together, who knows what would happen.

"Are you coming?"

He smiled once more and followed her. "Of course, my dear," he responded, grabbing her arm.

A man on the other side of the long table greeted them with a smile. "Good morning, sir, madam,"

Sherlock bowed his head and returned the greeting.

"How may I help you?"

"We would like to speak with Henri," Sherlock answered, releasing Molly's arm and stepping forward.

Molly turned her head and examined the ink sets lining the shelves. She stepped towards the wall, vaguely listening to the gentleman informing Sherlock that Henri was in the back and he would go retrieve him.

She lifted a simple quill pen and smiled as the gold inlay on the top merged at the center with a simple rose surrounding the pen as if this was how it was grown.

"Simple, yet elegant," Sherlock commented over her shoulder.

She nodded, returning it to its place and turned to face him. "Henri?"

"In the back. The clerk went to retrieve him. Apparently, Henri is the owner."

She smiled at the spark in Sherlock's eyes and nodded. "What luck."

"What luck indeed."

"I am Henri." A gentleman with graying dark hair and a round face and French accent remarked as he entered the shop.

Sherlock turned and bowed his head. "Ah, Henri, I believe we have a mutual acquaintance who said you might be able to provide us with some information."

Henri shifted slightly and moved his eyes from Sherlock to Molly. "May I ask who is the acquaintance?"

"Irene Adler,"

Henri's face paled, slightly, before he regained his composure. He glanced around before stepping around the counter. "That name is well known in this part of London, monsieur, and not in a good way."

"Yes, I know, and not one I throw around lightly," Sherlock returned, glancing at Molly. "She said you would be able to help us."

"In what way?"

"We would like to know about a certain form of ink. One with a mixture of perfume."

Henri sagged in mild relief. "Information like that is easy to give without having to speak a name."

Molly stepped forward and smiled, kindly. "Forgive my associate, sir. He is not one for subtlety," she declared, glaring mildly at Sherlock.

Henri smiled and bowed his head. "A beautiful lady such as yourself has no need to apologize."

Molly smiled with a blush and Sherlock clenched his jaw. At this point, he wanted to gather the intel and leave. Henri's gaze at Molly was unprofessional or becoming so as long as they stood there.

"Do you make the ink here?"

Sherlock blinked and realized the conversation had carried on without him and he stepped closer to Molly's side.

"But of course, my dear," Henri remarked with a smile. "I make all of the special ink in the back. The ladies bring me their perfume and I use a special blend of ink to produce the finished product."

"Is it just ladies who bring perfume?"

"Yes," Henri answered, but paused and frowned. "Of course, there was one gentleman who came in a few weeks ago and requested some ink with a strange perfume."

"Was it a flower?" Molly leaned forward with a curious gaze.

Henri nodded, returning behind the counter and pulled out a ledger underneath the register. "Yes, but not just one flower. He had a mixture of different flowers. I thought it was strange, but the ink turned out very well."

"What was his name?"

Sherlock's baritone voice interrupted Molly and Henri's conversation. His tone was not one to second guess and Henri swallowed nervously.

"I am looking, monsieur." Henri nervously remarked, flipping through the pages of the ledger. "Ah, here it is." He pointed to the name and turned the book around to show Molly and Sherlock. "A Mister Heathrow."

Molly gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Is there something wrong, madam?" Henri inquired, leaning across the counter with concern.

Molly lowered her hand and quickly composed her expression. "Everything is fine."

Her voice did not fool Sherlock as he placed his hand on her back before thanking Henri for the information. Turning Molly towards the door, Sherlock nodded to the man once more before escorting her outside.

"Heathrow ordered the ink?" Molly whispered in a stunned tone. "That does not make sense."

"Unless that was the reason he was killed."

She lifted her eyes and searched Sherlock's face. "He orders the ink and then my father has him killed. Why?" She surveyed the street around them, wondering if any of her father's men were watching them.

"I don't know, but I think it is time I paid a visit to Heathrow's employer."

"Would you like me to come along?"

He smiled and gripped her arm in his. "I thought it was obvious, Molly Hooper."

"What was, Sherlock?"

He glanced into her eyes and a flame burned within the depths of his multi-colored iris'. "That you would be beside me the whole time."

A blush tinged her cheeks and she tried to hide the smile on her lips as his gaze became sensual. In the public eye, this would not be permissible, but for Sherlock and Molly, it was nothing less than a private expression between two people who admired and cared deeply for the other. To them, the public was nonexistent.

Shivers ran up and down her spine as his expression caused her breath to catch in her throat and her chest rose up and down a few times while his gaze shifted to her lips. On instinct, she licked them and vaguely heard his breath catch at the sight.

He cleared his throat and jerked his head forward. "Well, then, let's continue on."

His voice barely gave any emotion away and she cleared her throat as her hand rested on his forearm while her arm threaded through his. "Onward, then," she agreed.

All the while, dark eyes observed them from across the street as he inhaled from his pipe and followed them, discreetly up the street.

 **~XXX~**

Molly waited as Sherlock moved into the office of the dead man's employer's office. They decided before entering the building that information would be better attained if Molly would wait in the living area, while Sherlock discussed the matters with Mr. Louis.

She turned from the window and smiled as a younger girl, perhaps in her mid-teens, watched her from the doorway. "Hello," Molly greeted, warmly.

The young girl nodded and slowly entered, her eyes moving around the area. "Where's papa?"

Her voice was small, yet Molly sensed it could be powerful when she wanted something. She smiled and replied, "He's meeting with a friend of mine."

"You're Mr. Holmes' friend?"

Molly nodded. "You know of Mr. Holmes?"

The young girl nodded and moved further in, taking a seat in a red cushioned chair. "Everyone knows Mr. Holmes," she responded.

Molly hummed. "That's true. My name is Molly Hooper."

"Rachel Louis,"

"Well, Rachel, how are you?"

Rachel bit her bottom lip and her brown eyes widened, ever so slightly. Her silence told Molly all she needed to know about the young girl. She was frightened.

"You can tell me." Molly leaned forward in her seat. "I won't say a word to anyone."

"You'll tell Mr. Holmes."

"Only if you wish it."

Rachel lowered her eyes and gradually stood to move next to Molly, taking a seat on the darker red sofa. "I couldn't tell him, but you can."

Molly understood the plea and reached over to place her hand on Rachel's in a comforting way. "I'm listening."

Rachel leaned closer and her voice was urgent and shaking as she spoke. "Mr. Heathrow was only trying to protect me."

"I understand he was your bodyguard."

"He was more than that." Rachel's eyes flooded with tears and her body began to shake. "He was…he was my friend. My best friend."

Molly smiled, gently and silently urged the young girl to continue.

Rachel sniffed and produced a handkerchief to wipe her running nose. "He listened when no one else would. Even mother wouldn't listen nor father." She lifted her eyes to Molly's and swallowed. "He met a man or a man came to the house, while mother and father were away. My sisters were upstairs. I was with Mr. Heathrow. He ushered me in the hall closet. He didn't want me seen."

"Why?"

"He said the man was dangerous and he didn't want me to get hurt."

"What about your sisters?"

Rachel shook her head. "They rarely come out of their rooms during the day. They spend most of the time writing letters and gossiping to each other."

Molly nodded in understanding. The poor girl in front of her had no friends. No companions, except Heathrow and now he was dead. A wave of sympathy swept through her and she squeezed Rachel's hand. "What did the man want?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "I couldn't hear everything, but I heard him tell Mr. Heathrow that if he didn't get the access, he wanted that he would kill me." Rachel broke down in silent tears, and Molly wrapped her arms around Rachel's shoulders.

"It's alright. It's alright, love."

Rachel cried through the pain and held onto the older woman, absorbing the compassion from her. Only Heathrow had ever shown her this form of kindness and now he was gone. She gathered her courage, knowing her father would soon come in and she would not be able to finish. "Mr. Heathrow," she began, straightening but never leaving Molly's side. "He gave me this to give to someone I could trust. He said to give to Mr. Holmes if I could." She paused, digging out a piece of paper from her skirts and handed it to Molly. "He knew Mr. Holmes would need it."

Molly glanced at the paper and swallowed before lifting her gaze to Rachel. "I'll be sure that he receives it."

"Thank you." Rachel gazed into Molly's eyes and her brow furrowed. "You're eyes."

Molly swallowed, fearing the next words out of the young girl's mouth.

"They are the same as the man who threatened Mr. Heathrow."

 **~XXX~**

Sherlock observed Molly's quiet stature after they left the Louis home. He knew he would not get enough information from Mr. Louis, but he knew the youngest daughter would open up to Molly.

Or at least he had hoped. She had that way with children. With everyone, actually.

After they hailed a coach, they climbed in with Molly gazing out the window with her hands clutched tightly in her lap. She was withdrawn, worse than ever before. He leaned forward and captured her hands in his.

She turned her head and caught his eyes. "Rachel saw my father."

Sherlock's jaw clenched at her words. "He came by the house?"

She nodded at the question. "Heathrow instructed her to hide in a hall closet, but she opened the door a crack and saw the man's face," she revealed, inhaling sharply. "It was my father. He threatened Rachel if Heathrow didn't do what he wanted."

Sherlock tensed at the thought of threatening a young girl and waited for Molly to continue.

Molly removed one of her hands and opened her small purse to pull out a piece of paper. "Heathrow wanted her to give you this. She gave it to me to pass to you."

Her voice was devoid of emotion, and though Sherlock wanted to examine the piece of paper and the information it contained, he shook his head and moved to the seat beside her and gathered her in his arms.

At this moment, the information paled in comparison to Molly's emotions, and Sherlock wanted to let her know that he was there for her, case or no case.

Molly breathed in his scent and allowed her body to melt into his side. He was warm and solid. His hands caressed her back as if he held a breakable item. "How many more people will he threaten to get what he wants?"

Sherlock sighed and slightly tightened his hold around her. "I don't know, but I will end it, Molly. You have my word."

"If he can threaten a young girl, kill a young man, and who knows who else," she inhaled, pulling back to search his eyes. "He will not let anyone stop him."

He smiled, sadly. "That's why I have you."

She searched his eyes and understood his meaning. He could not defeat her father alone, but perhaps he could with her by his side. "Until the end?"

He shook his head. "Longer,"

Her body shivered at his words and the way his baritone voice deepened with a single word. His voice, God help her, was going to be the death of her or her lifeline. For she knew if she ever needed to be pulled back from the darkness, his voice would be the one to do it.

Leaning back into his body, she rested her head on his chest, accepting his right hand moving up and down her upper arm and his left resting on her torso with his thumb absently rubbing her side. A simple gesture, but one that heightened her alertness of him.

Her right hand rested on his chest in the silence of the coach, she understood his actions. Closing her eyes as the coach rocked slightly with movement, she vaguely realized there was a brush of someone's lips on her forehead just below her hairline.

And before she drifted into darkness of slumber, she could have sworn she heard nine words.

"No one will take you from me, Molly Hooper."

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I don't know about you guys, but I literally could hear Benedict's voice when he said the last line. I got shivers writing it! And I couldn't stop fanning! Oh, that man's voice... I would pay...oh, I don't know...almost anything just to hear him talk. Shoot, he could read the entire dictionary and I wouldn't care! LOL!**

 **I've been attempting to get on track with my updates, and have actually come up with a plausible schedule. One which I hope works. I'm planning, at this moment to update every Monday and Friday of this month (July). I'm not sure if I will stick to it, but it will give me and you the reader a few days to catch up between.**

 **Next Chapter: Closer**

 **Until Next Time...**


	9. Closer

**THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

For Molly Hooper, the idea of her father killing her to prove a point was steep even for her. All her life, even before her mother died, her father always protected her. Now, after replaying the message Sherlock received in her mind, Molly was finding the steep was weakening.

 _Daughter or no. I will stop you._

Her hand trembled as she held the scalpel over the body brought in by Lestrade. Anderson had asked for a day off, after receiving a cold. Molly had relented for she knew the price of a simple head cold.

So, she was here. In the damp, cool cave where the autopsies were performed. Alone. Somehow, she liked it that way. She could be alone with her thoughts. Alone with no one to impress. She was simply herself.

Sherlock, for all intense and purposes, had requested she return promptly to Baker Street when her shift ended. He worried about her, even though he would not say the words aloud. For that, she smiled.

Steadying her hand, she preceded to make the marks on the body. A stabbing, according to Lestrade, was the cause of death, but confirmation was key to all autopsies.

Making the necessary slices, she proceeded with the simple examination. The knife or sharp object had sliced into the liver and the attacker had pushed or pulled towards the spleen. Essentially, the victim bled to death.

"You must have inherited my technique, my darling girl."

Molly stiffened and with a slight jerk, straightened. Her eyes widened, trying to figure out how he got in. "What are you doing here?"

Her father stepped closer and examined the body on the table, before lifting his eyes to his daughter. "Can't a father come to visit his only daughter?"

She swallowed, shifting her eyes behind him to find two men on guard. "How did you get in here?"

He shrugged and glanced back down at the body. "A simple distraction is all those buffoons needed to leave their posts," he paused, catching her eyes once more. "I imagine Mycroft Holmes will have words with them when he finds out."

She stiffened her posture and clenched her jaw. Why, oh, why did Sherlock decide not to follow her today? Surely her father would not try anything here. Would he?

He smiled and pointed to the body. "You have amazing technique, Molly. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she managed to whisper.

He sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "It is a shame you had to resort to dressing in these…commoner clothes to be accepted," he remarked with a pitiful tone. "If you had just accepted my offer when you graduated, you would not have been reduced to this."

She straightened even more. "You know I would not nor could not work for you."

"With me, dearest, with me," he corrected, moving around the table to stand closer to her. "Of course, not that I blame you for rejecting my offer," he paused, touching her face in a fatherly way. "You are so much like your mother."

She smiled, only a fraction at the mention of her mother. "Is that why you stayed away when she became ill?"

Sadness eclipsed his face and she wondered, briefly, if he truly loved her mother. "I stayed away because she asked me to," he revealed with a sorrowful tone. "She did not want me to endanger you or myself with her illness."

"In other words, you would not risk becoming close to her."

"I was closer than I wanted to be, Molly." His eyes darkened with his tone. "Despite what you may think, I loved your mother, as I love you,"

"Yet you threaten my life to keep Sherlock at bay," she retorted, her own eyes flashing.

He straightened, a telling sign that she hit a nerve. "You should stay away from him."

"He said the same about you."

Their eyes darkened with the same intensity which made the gentlemen a few feet away shift, uncomfortably.

"You care for him, don't you, daughter?" Lancaster inquired, calmly.

Molly raised her chin a defiant motion and he received his answer.

"Then perhaps you should persuade him to let it go before I'm forced to enact my threats."

"You know, no one can stop Sherlock Holmes from his prey."

"Is that what I am? His prey?" He chuckled and stepped back. "How delightful. I've never been anyone's prey before."

She turned her head, refusing to look at him with any form of sincerity. "It's not a game, father."

"No, my dear girl, it's not. It's life," he paused, forcing her to look at him once more. "How unfortunate that you should fall in love with a man who is after your father."

"You're a criminal, father," she countered, not denying her feelings for the detective.

He nodded. "Yes, I suppose in your world, I am, but is Sherlock Holmes a saint as well?"

"He does not kill unless he has no choice. You kill for pleasure."

His face darkened with a villainy gaze before he stepped within a hairs breath of her. "I only kill when it is necessary. Never for pleasure, Molly."

"Tell that to Thomas and Heathrow,"

He chuckled, darkly and shook his head. "Thomas was a message. As for…Heathrow, was it?" He licked his lips. "You know, very few…acquaintances every stay alive after their jobs are completed."

"So, you killed him because he knew too much?"

He shrugged. "I will not give you leverage, as you already know the truth."

She swallowed and bowed her head. "Why did you come here?"

He turned back towards her; his eyes shifted to a sad gaze. "To warn you,"

"Warn me about what? Sherlock?"

He caught her eyes and she saw the pain she recalled after her mother died. "This…game…you are in with Holmes, is dangerous. You may think you are helping, but you are endangering yourself as well as him."

"I won't stop helping him, father."

"I know, which is why I am sorry."

"For what?"

He shifted and raised his left hand. "For this…"

The last sound Molly heard was a loud pop and a burning sting running through her right arm before she collapsed on the floor.

 **~XXX~**

"Molly. Molly!"

She moaned and opened her eyes with flutter as she tried to focus on the man hovering above her. She shook her head, trying to regain some sense of recollection. "Sherlock…"

He breathed a sigh of what seemed to be a relief and caressed her head with tender strokes. "Oh, dear Molly,"

She blushed and attempted to move, but he stilled her actions.

"I've sent for John. You must lie still."

"What happened?" She focused her gaze on his face.

He sighed. "You've been shot, Molly," he stated, plainly. "Don't you remember?"

She groaned and slowly nodded. "My father…"

Sherlock stiffened. "Your father shot you?!" His voice held a twinge of anger and his eyes flashed an ice color.

She studied his profile and lifted her left hand to caress his face, but the movement caused her to wince as her body shifted slightly. "He came by the morgue to warn me to stay away from you," she paused, catching his eyes, watching his eyes melt into the loving mixed color. "I refused and he shot me."

He groaned and captured her left hand and placed a rushed kiss in the palm of her hand. "I should have been there."

"There is nothing you could have done," she reassured him or tried to. "How did you find me?"

"When you were late, I searched for you. I found you lying on the floor and," he paused, holding her hand, tightly, as she lay on the bed.

"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

He swallowed. "My heart stopped," he confessed, holding her eyes. "I thought you were dead until I heard you moan. I can't…" he trailed off, touching her forehead with his right hand. "I couldn't lose you."

Tears blurred her vision as she stared at him and reveled in the feelings he was scarcely admitting, but it was enough. She slowly glanced down and discovered her body was wrapped in a sheet and she wore a nightgown. She shifted her gaze and his cheeks turned a flush red before he cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hudson helped," she concluded and he gave a quick nod.

"I couldn't have John coming in and finding you in your work clothes," he revealed and she smiled.

"Thank you," she responded with a quiet smile.

"You are very welcome, Molly Hooper."

A timid knock on the door caused them to turn their heads, but Sherlock refused to let go of Molly's hand as the door opened and Sherlock's friend and his wife entered with a rush.

Molly smiled with a calm nod and Doctor John Watson glanced at her arm and raised a brow to Sherlock.

"What happened?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She was shot, Watson."

"I gathered that from the short message, but who shot her?"

Molly swallowed and glanced nervously down. Sherlock's grip on her hand tightened slightly.

"John, just work on her arm." Mary Watson stepped closer and sat on the bed beside Molly.

John shook his head and opened his bag. With precision, he began his work.

Molly winced and shifted her gaze to Sherlock. Focusing on him caused the pain to fade in her mind, and his gaze gave her more of a pain reliever than morphine or any opioid could perform. In his eyes, she witnessed the compassion he often hid from others and the emotion he continued to hide.

Her heart fluttered in her chest and her stomach twisted into knots. Her father's statement resounded in her mind. She did love Sherlock. She loved him with all her heart. For reasons she had yet to understand, she loved him for so long she could not pinpoint the exact moment she fell.

She flinched only slightly when John lifted the bullet from her arm and dropped it in a tin filled with alcohol. She shifted her head and smiled at John before shifting her gaze to Mary, who was holding her right hand, tenderly.

"Do you need anything, dear?" Mary was kind enough to ask.

Molly shook her head and sighed just as John began to stitch the hole in her arm. "No, thank you,"

Mary smiled tenderly and bowed her head.

John sighed as he clipped the stitch and slowly wrapped her arm. "How long before you found her?"

Sherlock lifted his eyes and sighed. "I found her around five."

Molly swallowed, finding it hard to recall the time in her mind. "He shot me around four. I believe," she whispered, gazing in his eyes.

"So, you bled out for about an hour before Sherlock found you," John remarked, carefully. "You'll need to rest for a few days and drink plenty of fluids do restore the blood you've lost." The order was strict and still delivered with a compassionate tone.

She nodded, already knowing the procedure. John nodded and slowly stood, closing his bag after rinsing his hands in the basin of alcohol. He turned to Mary and nodded before glancing at Sherlock. "Sherlock,"

Sherlock groaned and nodded. Catching Molly's eyes, he smiled, faintly. "I'll return shortly."

She nodded with a kind smile, watching him leave with a soft click of the door, leaving her and Mary alone in the room.

"It was your father, wasn't it?" Mary asked, cautiously.

Molly swallowed and glanced away.

Mary sighed and sat in the chair her husband occupied a few moments before. "I only know what Mycroft has told me and it wasn't much."

Molly's head jerked to study Mary with wide eyes.

Mary smiled, tenderly. "Who do you think has been watching you from a distance, dear?"

"Does John know?"

Mary shook her head. "No, and trust me, the less he knows the better," she remarked, rolling her eyes. "He would not be thrilled if he found out I work for Sherlock's brother in my spare time."

Molly lowered her eyes. "Yes, it was my father. He…warned me to stay away from Sherlock, but I…think…" She cleared her throat. "I think it was more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he wanted to send another message to Sherlock. He already sent one saying he would take away the one thing he has no right to hold."

"You," Mary deduced with a smile.

Molly nodded. "But I told Sherlock," she began, keeping her eyes down. "He had more of a right than my father did."

Mary clasped her friend's hand with a kind gaze. "You love him, don't you?"

Molly bit back tears and turned her head.

"Oh, Molly," Mary whispered, holding tight to her hand. "Does he know?"

"If he does, he has not said."

"Well, if the way he acted today is any indication, he feels the same."

Molly shifted to gaze into Mary's eyes with hope flooding her soul. "Do you think?"

Mary smiled and brushed the tears from Molly's cheeks in a motherly way. "I know."

 **~XXX~**

"What is going on, Sherlock?"

Sherlock groaned and slid his hands in his pockets. Sometimes he wondered how John could be so thick at times. "Nothing except the usual,"

"The usual," John scoffed, turning his head before glaring at Sherlock. "You've involved an innocent in your games, haven't you?"

Sherlock returned the glare with hardened eyes. "She volunteered, John. I didn't ask."

"You never do, Sherlock. That's the problem."

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "I would never harm her."

John stepped back and studied his friend. "You love her,"

Sherlock's cheeks reddened and not from anger as he stepped back and around his friend. He sauntered towards the fireplace and placed his hands on the shelf above. John watched his reaction with careful observations. He hummed and folded his arms across his chest. "You do love her, do you not?"

Sherlock's shoulders dropped and John's heart went out to his friend.

"Sherlock, talk to me," John pushed, walking forward.

Sherlock sighed and his head lifted with his gaze straight ahead. "Her father is a threat, John. That's all."

"No, that's not all," John returned with a slight smile. "You wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to have her stay at Baker Street."

"Mrs. Hudson approved," Sherlock nearly growled, but continued to keep his back to his friend.

"Yes, I know she did," John began, realizing the truth. "But she would not have if Molly was not important."

Sherlock pushed away from the fireplace and turned to face his friend, but stopped when he saw the smile on John's face.

"Have you told her?"

Sherlock swallowed and turned his head.

John sighed. "Sherlock, you need to tell her."

Sherlock's eyes closed. "I need to check on her."

John grasped his friend's arm and caused him to stop. "I know you, Sherlock. You get caught up in the chase and you become blind to what happens around you."

"It's different with her, Watson."

John saw the tenderness in Sherlock's eyes and smiled, faintly. "Which is why I suggest you be careful, for both of your sakes."

 **~XXX~**

Molly was sitting up against the pillows when Sherlock returned about an hour later with some tea on a tray. She brightened at the sight of him and smiled, even more, when he set the tray on the table beside her bed and sat on the left side.

Lifting her hand between his, he studied her with her long hair cascading down her shoulders. She was pale, but still beautiful in his eyes. How could he not have known? How could he have ignored the signs?

"I put you in danger," he whispered, sadly.

She shook her head, feeling his hands tighten around hers. "No, you didn't," she argued, watching his eyes lift to hers. "My father did."

"Molly," he began, gently.

She smiled and tilted her head to the side, studying him. "It is alright, Holmes," she injected, shifting slightly on the bed. "I'm alright."

He nodded, unable to move from his position. "I should have stayed with you."

She sighed. "Sherlock, you said that the morgue was the safest place for me. You could not have known that my father would have reached me there."

"I should have, Molly," he argued, his eyes tormented. "My foolish reasoning convinced me that the morgue was a haven for you. I was mistaken."

She removed her hand from his grasp and placed it on his face, cupping his cheek. "You are not to blame. I am not blaming you."

Even with her faith and reassurance, he still hated seeing her injured. Her pale face from the lack of blood. Her arm in a sling due to her wound. Her hair falling past her shoulders. Her brown eyes holding such emotion. He strained to tear away from the sight. She still gazed at him with a soft, tenderness which made his breath catch.

"Why?"

His question was barely a whisper and she smiled at the sound. "Why do I not blame you?" She waited for him to nod before she answered. "Because you would never hurt me."

"How do you know?" His words were choked in his throat and she lowered her hand to his clasped together.

"Because you promised me that you would catch him and we would do it together. I joined this fight, willingly. You never persuaded me to join you. You allowed me to make the choice."

He lowered his eyes and traced the back of her hand with the pointer of his right hand.

She was so delicate.

Soft.

He traced the lines of her hand made from the bones underneath and the barely seen veins. She was perfection. He told her so just a few weeks ago. Just before the shooter attacked his flat.

When he saw her today on the floor in the mortuary, he thought his heart had left his chest. He feared he had lost her.

He hated fear. He hated the thought.

He wanted her alive. By his side. Yes, he was selfish in keeping her in the chase, but he could not imagine doing it without her.

She was correct. She did join willingly. She decided to help him. She decided to capture her father.

Raising his eyes, he discovered she was watching him and her chest was rising and falling at a fast rate. He could see the pulse in her neck thumping at an alarming rate but not from fear. No, it was from something else. He caught her eyes and found her pupils had dilated and his heart pounded in his ears.

Could Watson have been right?

Should he confess his feelings?

He was still unsure and it seemed rushed. He still needed time but he had almost lost her.

Licking his lips, he watched as she did the same. Standing from the chair, he shifted to rest on the bed. Refusing to let go of her hand, he rested his left hand on the other side of her, careful not to disturb her arm.

He was taking a chance.

Lowering his head, he placed his forehead on hers in a tender action. An action which signified so much between them.

It was their signature. Their show of affection. The deep bond that caused them to breathe in erratic forms.

Molly's breath caught in her throat and she knew he could see her heart pounding or the result of it. She witnessed his reaction before his forehead landed tenderly on hers. She wanted this. She wanted to tell him the true nature of her feelings, but for some reason, it still did not seem the right time.

His breath touched her lips, and she licked her lips once again. She wanted to move, but she knew Sherlock had to make the first step.

He had shut off his emotions for so long. For him to make even a fraction of the move was a huge step.

"Molly Hooper," he whispered, huskily.

She rubbed her forehead against his, tenderly. "Yes," she returned, breathlessly.

"Please do not be offended,"

"With what?"

He swallowed and gained the courage he needed. "With this," he whispered with a deep baritone just as his lips made contact with hers.

It was tender and full of promise. Static pulsed through them as their lips rested together. Molly's heart pounded with a skip in her ears. His hand released hers and caressed her cheek as hers did the same.

With slow ease, he released her lips from his and their panted breathes mixed as he gradually opened his eyes to find hers still closed.

He smiled, brushing his thumb under her eye and down her cheek, taking in the soft, smooth skin. He watched with fascination as her eyes fluttered open and caught his.

"This could prove to be dangerous."

She traced his impressive cheekbones with her finger and hummed.

He leaned into her hand and held her eyes. "If your father discovers this development, it could be dangerous."

She nodded and licked her lips. "I am afraid he already knows or at the least suspects."

Sherlock cupped her cheek. His voice was deep and full of honesty and emotion. "Then, we shall have to ensure it only strengthens our resolve to defeat him."

She smiled and allowed her head to move up and down in slow action. "For the future?"

He leaned forward and rested his forehead on hers once again. "For more,"

In the silence of the room, they realized what had changed. They had grown closer and the danger was just beginning.

In the action of growing closer, the reaction was they were falling in love, or rather acknowledging they were already there.

And for Sherlock and Molly, that in itself was dangerous.

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **Yay, they kissed! It was going to take longer, but Molly was beginning to protest and when Sherlock joined it...well, let's just say, I was ganged up on! LOL! I hope you approved, even though Molly was shot.**

 **I have been working on getting my updates pretty regular, and so far, I've been almost successful! Life is hectic yet I feel like I've been blessed with almost enough time to get my writing in check.**

 **Next Chapter: Third Warning**

 **Until Next Time...**


	10. Third Warning

**I apologize for taking a little time to update. I hope this chapter satisfies.**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

Something shifted between them after Lancaster wounded Molly. Something binding and whole.

He doted on her as much as he could, attempting to make her comfortable and fussed when she rose from her bed.

It did not take a genius to realize how much he cared. He did not have to speak the words and neither did she. Their bond was deeper than that. It was profound. Full of what Molly recalled in the tales she heard as a young girl. Things she never believed, at least not completely, until she met Sherlock.

She placed the cup of tea on the small table in front of her. Sherlock had an early meeting with Lestrade and though she wanted to go with him, she was left alone. Well, not entirely alone, Mrs. Hudson was downstairs and checked on her regularly, per Sherlock's request.

For the past few days, she stayed in Sherlock's flat, never far from his sight. Not as if she could complain about it. It was as if her dream had come alive in just a few short days.

She blushed as she recalled the tender way his lips caressed her. The electric shock through her veins when their lips connected. The unspoken vows and promises made with such a tender kiss. He made no moves since to kiss her again but the tension was there. The tenderness was still present.

If anything, she was comforted at how he gave her space. Almost as if he was showing how much he respected her. She was enjoying the closeness between them now and reveled in the way he was there when she needed someone. She recalled the previous night when a nightmare had awakened her, and he was there, holding her, telling her that no one was going to harm her again.

The tenderness in his tone. The fear in his arms as if someone could have taken her, made her blush even more. Even her arms shook with the memory of the night before.

 **~XXX~**

 _Her scream pierced the night and she sat straight up in the bed. Sweat had drenched her hair and clothes and her arms shook as they tried to reach forward._

" _Hooper!"_

 _She turned her head towards the door and gasped multiple times, trying to still her racing heart. "Holmes,"_

 _Sherlock observed her fearful face and lowered the revolver in his hand. Placing it in his hastily thrown on a robe, he rushed towards her and carefully enveloped her in his arms. "Molly, it's alright, dear. It's alright."_

 _She sniffed and returned the embrace, burying her face into his chest. Tears soaked his shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. "He tried… he tried…"_

 _Sherlock's eyes clenched shut as he rocked her in his arms, minding her wounded arm, still tender from the bullet wound a few days earlier. "He did not succeed."_

 _She shook her head, letting his voice soothe her._

 _One of his hands caressed her hair, tracing down her back, almost to her waist, before repeating the action several times._

" _Is she alright?"_

 _Molly refused to raise her head as Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway, disheveled as they were._

" _Night terror, but she is alright."_

" _Oh, my dear,"_

" _Mrs. Hudson, would you be so kind as to brew some tea? I'll take her into the sitting room."_

" _Of course, I'll brew her some of my herbal soothing tea. Back in a jiff,"_

 _Molly allowed Sherlock to raise her in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You don't have to."_

" _Yes, I do," he whispered, deeply. Carrying her gently down the stairs towards the sitting room and lowered them onto the couch with her resting on his lap, and her right arm facing outward._

 _He rocked her, calmed her. Allowed her head to rest on his shoulder, and her right hand to rest on his chest._

 _She smiled as the tremors in her body from the night terror were replaced with the pleasure of being held._

 _Sherlock bowed his head and brushed his lips tenderly across her forehead, a sign letting her know her importance in his life. "He will not touch you again, Molly."_

" _You can not promise that, Sherlock," she whispered, nodding her head against his shoulder._

 _He hummed and he stiffened underneath her. "It's not a promise. It's a vow. As long as I draw breath, he will not touch you again."_

 _She smiled at the strength of his words and she accepted it. Raising her face for a brief moment, she brushed her lips across his cheek and watched as his eyes fluttered close. "Thank you," she remarked, knowing no other words were needed at the moment._

 _He bowed his head and held her close, and before Mrs. Hudson returned, he knew she was asleep._

 _When she awoke the following morning, she was still in his arms, laying fully on the couch with Mrs. Hudson resting in Sherlock's chair with a smile on her face._

 **~XXX~**

Leaning back in the small couch, she kept a watchful eye on the door, expecting him to arrive any moment. Sherlock hated leaving her alone, even with Mrs. Hudson on guard. But she was not ready for the public's eye with a bullet wound on her upper arm.

Her arm was healing with very little fuss. Watson visited once a day to check the bandage and to sterilize the wound. Though, she could have told him Sherlock was very capable of tending to her. She smiled at the thought. It would not have been proper, but Sherlock and herself rarely did much to institute propriety with only a few exceptions.

They were the rebels of society. Bound together to show the world that women could be more than mere society diamonds. They could be comrades in arms. Strong women with the right to think and do whatever they wished.

Her eyes drifted to the paper on the table and with careful movements, she reached for it and slowly opened it.

It was the letter Heathrow had passed to Rachel for Sherlock. Her eyes moved over the words, taking in the knowledge and her breath caught in her throat.

 _Downfall of Justice. The Whitechapel Murderer is only the beginning. Panic. Riots. Lancaster is going for the long game._

"Long game," Molly whispered, lowering the letter to her lap. "Father, what are you playing?"

"Did you say something, dear?"

Molly's head jerked up and she sighed with a smile. "I was just thinking aloud, Mrs. Hudson."

"Sherlock has been rubbing off on you, one would think."

Molly's face burned with a gentle sensation and she bowed her head. "It would seem so."

Mrs. Hudson's smile grew tender. What a pleasant young woman, she thought in a kind notion. "Would you like anything, dear?"

Molly shook her head. "No, thank you, I'm quite alright for the moment."

"He'll return soon."

Molly kept her head down, listening as Mrs. Hudson left the room and headed downstairs towards her flat.

The Whitechapel Murderer was the sensation which graced the newspapers. Sherlock commented on how the murderer had experience in the medical field, but unfortunately, he had not been called on to consult with the case. She shuddered at the thought of those women being slaughtered by a man who was becoming more unhinged with each kill.

Standing up, she gracefully stepped towards the window and peered out into the street. Murder was becoming all too common and Scotland Yard was having a hard time keeping up with cases.

Panic.

No one felt safe. Even with a criminal for a father, Molly had felt safe until recently. The bullet hole burned upon memory and for reasons she was certain was his intention, the bullet had missed the major arteries and did not even graze the bone.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. What if the Whitechapel Murderer or Jack the Ripper was really her father? Or working for her father?

What if the murders being committed now were all instigated by her father? For what purpose?

Why would her father instigate such a travesty?

"Murder equals tension which causes panic,"

"Which could lead to riots."

She turned with a smile, watching him enter the flat, pausing only to hang his jacket on the coat rack. "You deduced as well, have you?"

He nodded. "Only I did not piece it together until you spoke it aloud."

Her head cocked to the side and she smiled. "Really? Or are you just trying to give a victory?"

He chuckled. "Does it matter?"

She shrugged and leaned into his side as he came to stand beside her. "Did you tell Lestrade about the letter?"

"No,"

"Do you not think he needs to know?"

Sherlock sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close. "Perhaps, but until I know more, it would be best not to say too much."

"You're thinking of the connections my father has in the Yard."

"Yes,"

She breathed out, resting her head on his shoulder. "Did you at least tell your brother?"

"I did."

She waited for him to complete the thought and raised her eyes to his face. "And?"

"He is doubling the security. Unfortunately, the Whitechapel murders and a few others have the police force stretched thin."

"Would Heathrow have been involved in the murders?"

"Unlikely, unless he was a participant in the first murder."

Molly pulled back and searched his face. "The first murder occurred a few days before his body was found, correct?"

He nodded. "Which does not prove much."

"What if he was forced to call on the lady and another man killed her?"

Sherlock's expression became contemplative as if he was digesting the pieces. "That would explain why they cannot identify the killer."

Molly nodded. "Perhaps, it is a group of men or women. People my father controls."

He lowered his eyes when she spoke the final sentence and heard the unmistakable shake in her voice. "You believe your father to be the Whitechapel murderer."

"Or merely the orchestrator." Molly lowered her eyes. "We both know that my father rarely gets his hands dirty. His minions do the work."

Sherlock's hand brushed her cheek with tender strokes and his eyes moved over her face, lifting her chin with the curve of his pointer finger. "He shot you."

"As a warning," she whispered, holding his eyes.

"He got his hands dirty, Hooper."

The meaning caused her eyes to widen. "But we can't let anyone know because if we did…"

"If we did then your job would be jeopardized, I know," Sherlock stated, solemnly.

"That was his plan," she confessed, placing her hands on his chest. "Shot me, and I would be discovered by someone from the Yard. If you had not come…"

He bowed his head and placed his forehead on hers. "This will force his hand."

She inhaled deeply, her body shaking at the prospect of what would happen now they put a knot in his plans. "Third warning,"

He rubbed his nose against hers before lifting his head. "First warning was Thomas. The second was the attempt on your life here at the flat. The third was shooting you."

"There will not be a fourth."

He cupped her cheek with the hand that never left her face. These moments were too precious to both of them. He found he rarely could leave her without feeling a sense of emptiness, especially after revealing some of his feelings after she had been shot. "No, there will not be."

She curled her fingers on his chest and held her breath. "What shall we do?"

"I can't risk your life, Molly."

She read between the lines of his voice. He could not lose her, and she could not lose him. It was a fact. A pure and simple fact. "My life is mine to risk, Sherlock, and in case you have not noticed, I am not leaving without you."

"If anything happens to you…"

"The same goes for me with you, Sherlock," she paused, stepping even closer to his body. "We are in this together."

His smile was sad and his eyes were filled with emotion. "Together," he whispered, lowering his head and brushed his lips over hers, tenderly.

She gasped, lightly, and as his other arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer, her left arm wrapped around his neck, threading her fingers through his hair.

The kiss deepened with their bodies melting together as if they were one soul. The first kiss seemed to pale in comparison in both of their minds. When the first had been sweet and tender, this one was filled with emotion and longing.

Sherlock's right hand pushed her brown curls behind her ear, as his mouth opened and deepened the contact. Her legs shook and her body leaned against his.

With their bodies flush against each other, Sherlock gradually released her mouth before placing another sweet kiss on her lips as he straightened his head.

Her eyes focused on his and she saw his pupils were dilated as she was sure hers was as well. She smiled with a blush and licked her lips, hoping her breathing would calm to a steady flow.

His thumb brushed over her cheek and he smiled, despite the circumstances, they were going to face. "I hope I made my point, Molly Hooper."

She smiled, understanding his meaning. "I hope I made mine, Sherlock Holmes."

As they embraced in the stillness of the room, they knew and understood the simple truth.

They were in the long game together and together is how they would defeat Lancaster. For nothing was more dangerous than two people fighting for their love and their right to be together.

 **~XXX~**

"You are taking an awfully big risk, sir."

Lancaster frowned and glanced over his shoulder. "And what risk would that be, pray tell?"

The younger man shifted on his feet and glanced at the others, who were trying not to observe their boss cutting open the young woman on the table.

"Going after Sherlock Holmes."

Lancaster smirked and lifted the kidneys from the body of the woman. Balancing both in his hands, he placed them in two boxes and motioned to one of his men. "Sherlock Holmes took something that belongs to me, Mr. Talmage. I'm just trying to get it back."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but what has he taken?"

Lancaster slipped two different envelopes in each box and wrapped them up. "You know what to do, Knox," he instructed, as the large man left the room. He turned his attention to Talmage and quirked his brow. His eyes were cold and his mouth set in a grim line. Talmage swallowed nervously and moved his eyes back and forth from the body to the man in front of him.

"He took my daughter, Mr. Talmage."

"But, sir, you said yourself that she rejected your…occupation."

"She sided with my enemy, Mr. Talmage, that is reason enough to go after him."

"But, sir,"

Lancaster's eyes flashed and the scalpel he was holding flashed in the well-lit room before embedding itself in Talmage's neck. As the younger man fell to the floor, convulsing for a few moments, Lancaster sighed and pulled the scalpel from the man's neck. Turning to face the others, he smiled in satisfaction as they backed away in fear.

"Everything will go according to plan, gentlemen. The police will be helpless and Sherlock Holmes will be nothing but a memory," he paused, carving another line on the body of the woman. "As for my daughter, we'll see who she chooses when the man she loves and her career is dead at her feet."

 **~XXX~**

Molly answered the door at the bottom of the steps and smiled as she tipped the young boy and laughed as he smiled, brightly and ran down the street.

Climbing the stairs, she entered Sherlock's flat and carried the package into the kitchen. Her mind wondered as she examined the package and gradually opened it.

Holding back a scream, she jumped back and covered her mouth with her hands.

Sherlock entered a few minutes later and froze when he saw her standing in a stiffened position a few feet from the table. "Molly?"

She shook her head before bending it towards the package on the table. "It's from him."

He scowled and approached the package. He picked up the envelope from the box, slightly stained with blood, and opened it. He growled and turned to face her. His eyes turning to ice with rage flowing through him.

She lowered her hands and stood beside him. Her eyes scanned the words and she felt the rage building, not only for herself but for the man beside her.

 _Contrary to your belief, the third warning lies in the box, Sherlock. Tread carefully through the streets and your inquiries or the next kidney you find in the box will be someone you know._

 _Rest assured, my daughter is no longer safe._

"How…how could he do this?"

Sherlock dropped the letter on the table and gathered her in his arms. "I imagine the police received the other kidney."

She sniffed and buried her face in his chest for only a brief moment. "So, we were correct. My father is behind the Whitechapel murders."

"That is speculation, Hooper, but if the police retrieved the other kidney along with a note and it was signed by the murderer, then we are correct."

She exhaled, as she glanced at the box. "I should not have reacted that way."

"Nonsense, you reacted as anyone who receives body parts would react."

She smiled, raising her eyes to his. "You would not have reacted that way."

"Yes, well, I am superior," he remarked with a smile.

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was attempting to relieve her stress and loved him all the more for it. "What does that make me?"

He bent his head and brushed his lips over her forehead. "My equal,"

She blushed and smiled with her eyes sparkling. "Even if I jumped back and you would not have."

His fingers caressed her cheeks. "Even if you did for it was a surprise for you to find such a horrific item in a simple package," he remarked, solemnly. "No matter your reaction, Molly Hooper, you are my equal in intellect and…"

"And…?" She waited on bated breath, watching as he suddenly became nervous causing her to smile with pleasure. "And emotion?"

He cleared his throat before giving a quick nod of his head.

She smiled and turned her head slightly to kiss his palm with a tender brush. "Should we not go to the police station and see if they received a similar package?"

Sherlock, only slightly grateful for the change of subject, stepped back and folded the letter and closed the box. "I shall go to the station."

"Sherlock…"

"They do not know of your connection, Molly," he began, facing her. "I would rather not allow them to investigate you."

She sagged, slightly. "For if they did, they would find out the truth of my profession."

"Exactly, and then I would have to deal with Anderson full time." He shuddered with disgust at the mere thought.

She smiled, concealing a laugh and approached him as he headed for the door. "What happened to never leaving me alone?"

He slipped on his coat and glanced towards her. "Mrs. Hudson will be downstairs and I understand Mary Watson will be arriving shortly."

She nodded and approached him, helping him button his coat. Loving at how domestic it seemed with such a simple gesture. "Fine, but I look forward to continuing the investigation by your side."

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "So do I, Molly Hooper," he agreed, his voice deepening in a deeper baritone voice.

She caught her breath at the intensity of his gaze and tone before he exited the flat and finally the building.

She watched from the top of the stairs as he paused only to speak to Mrs. Hudson and the sent her nod before leaving, taking her prayers of safety with him.

 **~XXX~**

"I must ask how you seemed to know we received a package, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at Lestrade's superior. A heavy-set man with a hard, non-trusting glare in his eyes. "Because I received a similar package at my door just this evening."

"Why did you not bring it to the station?"

Sherlock frowned. "How would it look if I entered the station with a kidney in a box, Captain?"

Lestrade smirked, admiring Sherlock's way with his Captain and nodded. "Sir, Mr. Holmes has only recently been involved in this case. Apparently, a young woman has been threatened by some unsavory people and was placed in Sherlock's care."

The Captain straightened in his seat. "What young woman?"

Lestrade glanced at Sherlock, who nodded. "Miss Molly Hooper, sir."

"Any relation to our Doctor Hooper, the medical examiner?"

Sherlock's gaze narrowed. "Sister," he answered blandly.

The Captain nodded, but his gaze suggested something more. "What is her connection to the case?"

Sherlock lifted his chin. "She has been assisting me, nothing more."

"I see." Though his tone suggested he suspected something was missing.

Lestrade, only just recently informed of almost everything, swallowed nervously. Sherlock was a friend and comrade, despite what others might think. If Sherlock was uncertain as to revealing the true nature of Molly Hooper's involvement, Lestrade would respect his wishes and keep Molly's connection a secret.

The Captain shrugged. "Very well, Lestrade, show him the note, but if I find out you have misled me, Mr. Holmes, I will most certainly place you in a cell."

Sherlock bowed his head and followed Lestrade out the door. "Thank you, Lestrade," Sherlock remarked, for the Inspector's ears only.

Lestrade nodded. "As long as I don't lose my job for this."

"I assure you. You will not be the one who will lose his job when this over." Sherlock smiled with unseen knowledge.

Lestrade frowned and tried to piece together Sherlock's meaning, but gave up when Sherlock began his examination of the letter.

That question was for another day.

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I don't know how my schedule is going to be, but I will try to update as soon as I can!**

 **Also, how did you guys like the addition of Jack the Ripper? I thought since there was a mini-debate online about if Sherlock could catch him that I would add my say in this story about it. I hope you approve!**

 **Next Chapter: Whitechapel Confessions**

 **Until Next Time...**


	11. Whitechapel Confessions

**I apologize for taking so long to update. The end of the year is always my busiest time. Family mostly... LOL!**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS SO MUCH!**

 **Please remember to review at the end! :)**

* * *

Days passed into weeks for Molly and for a time, she was grateful she could call a holiday from her work without question. Her diligent appearance at the morgue left an understanding for her supervisor, who understood even a mortician needed a break after nearly four years of diligent service.

Her days spent recuperating left her feeling on edge and tight. She hated feeling useless. Though Sherlock never said otherwise. In fact, he pointed out on numerous occasions that she provided him with such insight she was invaluable.

Certain a few of his words were merely placating her, she smiled and carried on with her observations.

The wound on her arm had healed nicely with only a small bandage covering the hole. The restrictions from weeks of non-use made it difficult for her after the sash came off, but it was another aspect of Sherlock's attention. He refused to allow her to give up and coaxed her into working on the movement as much as possible.

The only argument they had since she moved in was her need to walk outside. Knowing Mycroft's men were watching her and refusing to leave without a pistol at her side, she found she could be careful, at least just to walk down to the bakery next door. Sherlock, with fear and stubbornness in his eyes, refused to allow her request.

"I'm not a prisoner, Sherlock!"

"No, you are a target, Molly!"

She groaned and turned away from him, her body shaking with anger. "It's just to walk down to the bakery, and it's next door. What harm could be done by that action?"

"Plenty!"

His growl had her stiffen and she whirled to face him. "I know your concern, but Mrs. Hudson can even time me and watch me. Your brother's own men are watching from the streets. I will be perfectly safe."

"I am not allowing you to leave, not without an escort, preferably me."

She almost relented, but she had been independent for too long. "I understand, Sherlock, but you cannot keep me locked up in this flat like a prisoner."

"Lancaster found you in the morgue, Hooper. He would not hesitate to reach you on the street."

She sagged, her resolve weakening, though she understood his reasoning, she hated not being able to be free. Her father was draining her freedom from her like the sun drains water from the soil.

His head dipped forward with his chin almost touching his chest. He approached her with his palms open and in front before reaching for her clenched fists. "Believe me, I know you want and crave to be as independent as you were before all this started, but please do not leave this flat without someone by your side."

"Do you not think he could reach me with someone by my side or without? His reach is endless."

"Nothing is endless, Molly. Except," he trailed off with his eyes searching hers, somberly.

"Except," she asked, breathless for the expression in his eyes caused her breath to catch in her throat.

His thumbs rubbed over the tops of her hands and she shivered with pleasure. His unspoken words hung in the soft air. Her heart picked up the pace in her chest. "Sherlock," she breathed out, her defenses falling.

"Molly," he whispered, longingly. His breath caressed her lips and her lids fluttered closed. His voice, deep and sensuous, was her weakness, and he knew it.

She breathed out, wanting the feelings, the unspoken words to be spoken at this moment. She needed to hear them. Stubborn, though she was, Sherlock could ask her anything and she would comply. His forehead rested on hers before his nose brushed hers in a tender seduction. He was arguing and winning. She sagged, even more, her body leaning, unconsciously into his. He was a master at manipulation and she was a slave to it. Oh, how she loathed that word!

Her hands trembled in his caress and she swore he was smiling, even though her eyes were closed. His breath caressed her face when his head shifted side to side. Her knees weakened and her heart pounded. She wanted his answer. She craved it like she would crave food or drink. "I will ask Mrs. Hudson or Mary to accompany me."

Tension left his shoulders as he sagged forward and she caught her breath. He may not say it but his actions were professing what he was choosing not to say.

"Thank you, Hooper."

"Oh, Holmes," she breathed, defeated.

"Molly," his voice called out to her. She opened her eyes to find his own searching over her face. "Please, do not allow me to take away your fight."

Shock crossed her features and her mouth opened. Her fight? He basically told her he wanted to keep her under guard and now…he was unbelievable. "You refuse to allow me outside, alone, because of my father, when I acquiesce you say you do not wish me to give up the fight."

His hands released her own, cupping her face between them, his thumbs tracing an unseen pattern under her eyes. "I only wish for you to be safe, Molly Hooper, my sociopathic tendencies may cause me to affect you in an uncaring way, but I cannot nor I will not put you in harm's way."

"I understand, Sherlock. It's just," she paused, breathing out, relishing in the feel of his hands on her face. "I feel as if I am caged. There is no freedom anymore. My," she began, closing her eyes on the pain. "My father is taking it away, and you…I know you are trying to protect me, Sherlock, but please, do not manipulate me."

"I would never."

"What did you just do, Holmes?"

He breathed in and out, pressing his forehead on hers. "I am sorry, Molly Hooper. I will try not to do it again."

Her hands rested on his wrists and she inhaled his scent with a smile. "That's all I ask."

He listened to the silence as the last word from her lips drifted in the air. She was right. He had manipulated their feelings for each other to achieve his goal. He was a fool in that respect. His fear of losing her was clouding his judgment and unknowingly, hurting her. How could he hurt such a delicate creature? Of course, she was not so delicate. She could fight and shoot. She was strong, stronger than any woman he had ever known. How could he manipulate such a strong, spirited woman? A woman he cared for very deeply.

"You never told me what was endless."

He sighed, his fingers moving lightly back and forth underneath her ear, stroking her skin along her jawbone. "This, Molly Hooper," he whispered, achingly. "This is endless."

She smiled through a tear-streaked face and tilted her head a fraction to caress his lips with hers, if only for a moment.

A moment, which she agreed, was endless.

 **~XXX~**

She tilted her head to the side, placing a simple pin in her hair. She groaned when her arm lowered. Her muscles were still sore.

"Allow me."

She hummed as sturdy long fingers touched her hair and placed the remaining pins in her coiffed hair with excellent precision. "How did you know?"

Sherlock chuckled and slid another pin inside the bun. "I suspected you needed help."

"My hero," she exclaimed with sparkling eyes.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly. "I'm not a hero."

She faced him with determination. "You are to me, Holmes," she confirmed, touching his face tenderly. Her hand moved to his lips, stopping the argument he was about to make. She smiled, tenderly, and nodded. "Now, would you be so kind as to help a lady with her hat and inform me where we are going?"

He smiled, brushing his lips over her fingers, before grasping the hat on the stand and help pin it on her head. "Whitechapel, of course."

She froze and her eyes widened. "Where the murders are being committed?"

"Elementary, I need to observe the area and talk with a few of the residents there, and since," he paused, lightly brushing his fingers over her face. "You are determined to leave the residence; you shall accompany me."

"Is that an order, Holmes?" She cocked her brows with a feistiness that made him smile.

"A request, Hooper."

She smiled and bowed her head in accordance with his bow. "Well then, lead the way, Detective."

"This way, doctor," he returned with a smile and looped her arm through his. "A game is afoot."

As he led her out the door, she laughed.

 **~XXX~**

Whitechapel was a grim place.

The air was livid with fear and uncertainty. Molly could sense it through her skin and bones all the way to her soul. That is what murder accomplished. Bringing panic and fear into the hearts of the residents, leaking into the air like a miasmic fume.

"Where do we go?" Molly inquired in a low tone, clutching tightly to Sherlock's arm.

He placed his other hand on top of hers and his ridged back stiffened even more. "George Yard Buildings, where the possible first victim, Martha Tabram, was found."

"I thought they did not believe she was connected."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The manner in which she was killed suggests otherwise, not to mention the location of the crime."

"And her profession," Molly concluded with a glance.

He bowed his head. "Her profession played a large part in piecing together the puzzle."

"You do not believe that was the real reason behind the killing to you."

He shook his head. "No, I do not. Something else is going on, and it has nothing to do with murdering ladies of the evening." He breathed out as they continued their walk down a darker street.

"You do realize the building we are heading towards is where crime is rampant."

"My dear Doctor Hooper, are you suggesting we turn back?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I am suggesting nothing of the sort, but I am saying that we need to be careful."

He smiled a cocky smile and tipped his head forward. "My dear, I am always careful."

She bit her tongue, knowing how much she wanted to believe it, but she knew the truth. He was daring, though, with her, he did seem to use more caution. "What are we looking for, exactly?"

He sighed as they arrived at the building. Brick stones covered the buildings with different stories and railings on balconies greeted them. He tightened his hold on Molly and entered the building, hoping they would locate some semblance of a clue as to why Lancaster was doing this.

"May I 'elp ya?"

Sherlock smiled and nodded to the older gentleman, who stood with a crooked back and had very little teeth when he smiled. "Yes, we are looking for information."

"Information, eh? That don't come cheap in these parts."

Sherlock pulled out a few shillings and help them up, watching the man's eyes widen with wonder. "I would like to know about Martha Tabram."

Like an eclipse, the man's eyes softened before turning into fear. "That name is not spoken of since 'er murder a few weeks back."

"Were you the one who found her?"

The man shook his head. "No, I was asleep, but I should've been watching. I always watch. Martha was kind to me."

"Do you know anything that might help?" Molly asked, tenderly, her voice soft and melodic.

"Martha brought 'ome some man a few nights before she was murdered. He was dapper, he was, but he didn't stay long. I figured he didn't have it, you know, but Martha says he just had to drop something off. He wasn't that kind of man."

"What did he drop off?"

"I dun know. I didn't ask."

Sherlock groaned and nodded his head. "Would you show us where she stayed?"

"The bobbies have already been through everything."

Molly smiled. "We would like to take a look, see if they missed anything."

The older man sighed with his shoulders sagging and motioned them to follow. "A'right, but don't count on finding anything. After the bobbies left, the looters came. It's not a safe place 'ere."

"By any chance, do you know the Heathrow?" Molly asked, carefully.

The man's posture stiffened and she and Sherlock watched with eagle eyes as he shifted on his feet. "I 'eard that name mentioned a few times, but that was months ago."

"Did Martha say it?"

He shook his head. "She didn't say nothing about 'im."

"Thank you, Mr.?"

He swallowed and shook his head. "Best not ask, if you please, miss, for I don't want to get involved."

Molly nodded and motioned to Sherlock, who passed the few shillings towards the man, who nodded and left, rather quickly. "I wonder what he heard about Heathrow."

"That is interesting, isn't Hooper?"

She nodded and they entered the room which had once been Martha's. After what seemed like hours, they sighed in unison before Sherlock grasped her arm and led her to the crime scene. "I'll have to ask Lestrade what they took from the room."

"Maybe they found something relating to Heathrow and my father."

"One can hope." Sherlock released her arm as they approached the crime scene, which still had small stains of blood in the cobblestones. "Interesting," he murmured after a moment.

"What is?"

"The stains on the cobblestones, they are remarkably fresh."

"The blood would have washed away after a few days," Molly remarked, squatting beside him. Her hand, glove-free, reached forward and she touched the cracks with the blood. "It is fresh. That's impossible."

"Unless," Sherlock began, standing up, reaching down to assist her.

"Unless what?"

"Murderer!" A shriek coming from behind them had them turning and in an instant Sherlock pushed Molly out of the way just as a woman wielding a small dagger charged out of the darkness, rushing straight towards Sherlock.

"I'll kill you!"

Sherlock dodged the woman only to have her thrash once more, catching his forearm. He hissed, but his attention remained fixed on his attacker. "Miss, I don't know who you are, but I am not who you think I am."

"Stay away from her!"

In the fading light of the sky, Sherlock realized the woman was meaning Molly. "I would never harm her."

"Liar! That's what men are! LIARS!"

"He's telling the truth. Sherlock never lies."

Molly's voice broke through the crazed look on the woman's face and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief when she lowered the dagger and glanced towards Molly.

"He's Sherlock Holmes?"

Molly smiled, pushing away from the wall, reeling from being pushed there a moment before. She reached the young woman and held out her hand. "He is."

The woman's breath was ragged and she shuddered as the dagger released into Molly's hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you was 'im."

"Him who? Who are you?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "The man who killed my friends." She sniffed, tears trailing down her cheeks. "I know he's coming after me. I just know."

"Why would he be coming after you?"

"Because I know." The woman faced Molly and frowned. "Heathrow was my friend. He didn't treat me like garbage or a…soiled woman. He cared."

Molly's eyes flickered towards Sherlock, who was standing back, understanding Molly's tenderness and qualifications for this moment. "You knew Heathrow?"

The woman nodded and sniffed, wiping the tears from her face. "He liked me. He was going to take me away from 'ere."

"Did you know Martha Tabram?"

"I did. She was the mother of us all. Always kind."

"Did you know Mary Nichols?" Sherlock finally spoke, hedging a bit closer.

The woman nodded. "She was our protector. She was tough and a bit mean, but we understood."

"What about Annie Chapman?"

"Dark Annie? She was a mother. She didn't like the work, wanted to stay home and do lady things, but she 'ad no choice."

"Did you know the other two ladies who were killed last week?"

The woman bowed her head. "That's why I know he's coming for me."

"Why do you say that?" Molly questioned in a motherly tone.

The woman raised her head and her eyes widened as she stepped back. "Because I'm the last one. I'm the one who knows. I can't stay 'ere. I have to go!"

"Wait," Molly screamed as the young woman ran out of the alley and disappeared into the darkness. "She didn't even tell us her name."

Sherlock shook his head. "She was terrified to tell us."

"We'll never see her again, will we?"

"I'll give her description to Lestrade, and he'll keep an eye out for now."

Molly nodded, satisfied he was at least taking the young woman's safety into consideration. She glanced at him and she gasped in horror. "Sherlock, you're bleeding!"

He groaned. "It's just a scratch. Not even that deep."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's get back to Baker Street."

He rolled his eyes. "We still have to search."

"I am not arguing with you, Sherlock. I'm ordering you. It is getting late and you are wounded. You cannot defend me if you are wounded," she reasoned with a smile.

He opened his mouth before allowing a smile to grace his lips. "Fine, Doctor, but we will return."

"Of course, we will."

 **~XXX~**

She rinsed his wounded arm and took the bandages from the table, slowly wrapping them over the antiseptic. "It is a good thing you did not require stitches," she remarked, resting on her knees on the floor in front of his chair.

He hummed, watching her with a faint glow in his eyes. She caught the expression and her cheeks warmed at the sight. He smiled at her shyness, even after their progressive relationship and motioned to the bandage. "I must commend you on your technique, Doctor Hooper."

She rolled her eyes. "It's barely a scratch."

"And yet you fuss over it as if it was a mortal wound."

"It could have very well been."

His eyes searched hers and he caressed her face, tenderly with his unbandaged hand. "What a life we live, Molly Hooper."

"If you are referring to one of us always ending up injured, I concur."

He smiled, though sadness touched his eyes. "When I saw the dagger in her hand, I had to act."

She nodded, tilting her head a fraction to kiss the palm of his hand. "I know and I would have done the same."

"I know that as well."

"My work is dangerous, Molly, I want you to understand."

"I do understand that, Sherlock. I would not be here if I did not," She raised on her knees, a fraction closer to him.

"I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to help you. I do not live in a world with diamonds in my eyes. I see the world for its possibilities and its chaos. I do not pretend that I live in a perfect, peaceful world for I know better. I live in a world where my father is a criminal of the most dangerous sort and the man I…care for is a good man who fights the crime." She smiled as a blush tinged Sherlock's face.

How strange he should blush at a compliment? Perhaps, he never received one. Impossible. His mother was not the sort to keep a compliment to herself. No, she thought with a smile, no, he blushed because of her. Her body trembled at the thought. He may not voice it, but he did and it was enough for the moment.

"I do also know this, there is a terrified young woman out there who knows more than she said and it has everything to do with my father and Heathrow."

Sherlock hummed and stroked her face with a light brush of his fingertips. "I've sent the message to Lestrade. Hopefully, he will find her in time."

"I pray he will," she whispered, rocking back to stand up.

Sherlock reached for her hand and pulled her down with a small jerk to sit on his lap. "Don't leave. Not yet."

She nodded without question for she understood. At the moment, he needed to think, but also needed her.

It was that one action she realized how much he truly cared for her and she hoped he knew she felt the same.

* * *

 **Please be kind!**

 **I hope you enjoyed it! I tried to add a little historical context to this chapter, mainly due to my profession. LOL!**

 **Side note to those who didn't know: Martha Tabram was a woman found murdered near Whitechapel. Many believe she was the first victim of Jack the Ripper since she was killed on Aug. 7 a few weeks before Mary Ann Nichols, the official first victim. Just a little history lesson!**

 **Next Chapter: Improper Deals (Here is a sneak peek, I have the rest of the story mapped out so I should have them completed soon!)**

 _Sneak Peek:_

 _"I refuse to be selfish anymore."_

 _"Well, I'm not going," Molly argued, folding her arms over her chest._

 _"Molly Hooper, your life…"_

 _"Will be empty and torturous without you, even away from you, Holmes. Have you not figured that out yet, Great Detective?!"_

 **Until Next Time...**


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